


Remain in Light

by veeagainst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Sirius Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:33:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 114,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veeagainst/pseuds/veeagainst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sirius Black didn't die? It's been done many times. Here's my take on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dumbledore’s Office

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to keep to a regular posting schedule. These chapters will not always be in chronological order (in fact, they often won't be). I have a large outline for this and it may go on for a long time. Forewarned is forearmed, right?

_“I've had enough, I've seen enough, I want out, I want it to end, I don't care anymore!”_

**_"You do care."_ ** **– _The Order of the Phoenix_**

 

Harry takes a deep breath, ready to burst out with something else, not wanting to hear whatever Dumbledore has to say, when he sees his headmaster’s eyes suddenly focus behind him. ‘Remus,’ Dumbledore says.

Harry turns and sees his former professor standing in the doorway to the headmaster’s office. The last time he’d seen Remus, – can it really have been just a few hours ago? – he had looked like every word was costing him more than he had to give. He still looks much the same, except the despair in his face seems tempered by determination. He’s not looking at Dumbledore. He’s looking directly at Harry.

‘Harry,’ he says, voice quiet but urgent, ‘I need you to come with me. Right now. Sirius needs you.’


	2. St Mungo's

Remus is pacing the St Mungo’s waiting room. He won’t, he can’t lose Sirius _again_. This time would somehow be worse, more final: nothing except the fragile promise of meeting in another form, in another elsewhere and elsewhen.

Remus is in no mood for fragile promises. He can’t, he won’t, he _can’t_ do this again.

He has to pace or he’ll come apart.

He hasn’t stopped moving since the Department of Mysteries – no, since before that, since Sirius had found him, frantic, saying that they had to go, they had to reach Harry – since the battle, the ebb and flow of magic and his own wand and Sirius’s and watching out for Harry the way they’d once watched out for James and Peter – not since he had stopped Harry from going after Sirius, thus preventing himself from going after Sirius – _clever that_ – and since Harry had run upstairs, and he had started to go after him, but then Albus had appeared and Minerva had held him back and he had turned, like an animal in a cage – _like Padfoot in Azkaban_ and he won’t think about it, he won’t, he can’t – and ran back to the veil, to where Sirius’s crumpled form lay on the other side of the dais.

He had knelt down and put his hands on Sirius, and he’d whispered, without thinking, ‘Don’t leave me here alone,’ and then he’d reached inside of himself and tried, desperate, to heal Sirius. He’d felt something, a tiny movement, and he’d picked him up – Sirius was light, too light, like a husk, like his soul had departed already – and someone had said something about not being able to Apparate properly directly from the Department of Mysteries but he hadn’t bothered to listen, he’d just reached inside of himself for his magic that he has learned is sometimes different from that of an ordinary human’s and he’d reached and reached and then they were in the lobby of St Mungo’s and he was clutching Sirius’s limp form, nearly dropping his dangling limbs, and screaming for a Healer.

And then there’d been that fiasco with the Healer who did come, and he’d had to get Kingsley and then he’d had to get Harry and suddenly they are both gone and he’s left here, alone, surrounded by people who hate him in this sterile and white waiting room, and he has to keep pacing, he has to keep moving, or else he will fucking disintegrate and it will be fucking awful.

He knows because he’s done it once before and it was fucking awful then and this time it is worse, it will be worse, and he has to think about something else.

Remus had found Kingsley upstairs in the hospital, in another ward. Remus had rounded the corner, winded, and seen the other wizard standing, head turned to stare at a curtain-shuttered window looking into a healing room. Remus’s first thought had been to tell Sirius that he had finally seen Kingsley looking mildly harried, and a second later the impossibility of that had hit him like a punch to the stomach but he had pressed on, until Kingsley had finally made eye contact with him.

‘You need to get Sirius a pardon,’ he had said without preamble.

Something in Kingsley’s face had softened. ‘Yes, I can do that,’ he’d said, but then he’d continued to stand there, his attention obviously on whatever was happening in the room beyond

‘Kingsley,’ Remus had said. ‘You need to do it now.’ He’d held out Sirius’s wand, the new one. ‘Here. This is his. It has his last spells on it. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?’

Kingsley had looked back at him, focusing more, and Remus had no time for his pity before he’d even opened his mouth to say, ‘Remus, I’m so sorry for your loss. But I –‘

‘He’s not dead,’ Remus had said, teeth gritted, and he’d been certain that Kingsley had thought for a second that he’d lost it, that he’d actually gone crazy with grief, so he’d continued, ‘but the Healer wants to notify Azkaban that he’s here rather than treat him.’  

Kingsley had blinked and looked back at the room beside him as if in a daze. Remus had wanted to tell Sirius that they’d have to update Kingsley’s range of expressions to include vaguely surprised. In his slow voice, he’d asked, ‘How could he have survived the veil?’

‘Who’s in there?’ Remus had demanded.

‘Tonks,’ Kingsley’d said, and Remus had felt an immense, fleeting guilt that he hadn’t known.

‘Is she…?’

‘They’re working,’ Kingsley had said. ‘They think she’ll be ok. In time.’

‘Well,’ Remus had replied, brisk, hating himself, ‘you’re not doing much good here, are you?’ Kingsley had given him a look, but Remus had ploughed onward regardless, ‘So you can get Sirius a pardon, right?’

Kingsley had done it. When Remus had returned from Hogwarts with Harry courtesy of a portkey from Albus, he’d been standing there, holding a piece of parchment covered in official looking stamps. Harry had given Remus a solemn look and then led Kingsley through the big doors and back into the A&E. Remus had been left alone with his thoughts and nothing to do and now he’s certain that if he stops moving he’s going to cause even more of a scene than he already has today.

He hates St Mungo’s but he’s not going to let it get to him. Sirius is here, just beyond those doors. They’re going to take care of Sirius. They’ll have to. This place is a necessary evil.

He sits down and puts his head in his hands so he can’t see the accusatory stares of everyone else in the room and gets down to the business of waiting.


	3. St Mungo's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry arrives at St Mungo's

‘It’s an absolute disgrace,’ Kingsley is saying to Harry.

 

Harry feels dazed – he’d broken all those things in Dumbledore’s office, he’d yelled at Dumbledore, he hasn’t slept, he hasn’t eaten, he’s probably failed one of his OWLs, not to mention that whole _thing_ that had happened in the Department of Mysteries an hour ago – and doesn’t quite register Kingsley’s words until a few seconds after he says them. Then, belatedly, as they wait for the Healer to return from reviewing Sirius’s pardon, he says, ‘What is?’

 

‘That they wouldn’t accept Remus as Sirius’s next of kin,’ Kingsley says, shaking his head. ‘I mean, yes, technically, legally, you are his next of kin as his godson and I shudder to think what they would have done without that given who Sirius’s relatives are. And yes, technically, legally, he and Remus aren’t married but I have to assume that that’s just because he’s been on the run. But the Healer had no right to turn Remus away.’

 

Harry is nodding before the meaning sinks in, and by the time it does, the Healer has returned and Kingsley is saying goodbye and Harry is being ushered into the Healer’s office. Then he has an immense feeling of stupidity for not realising sooner that which is suddenly incredibly obvious. He assumes Hermione has known for a year at least.

 

‘How is he?’ he asks the Healer, not taking the proffered seat. He’s had enough of that for one day, thanks.

 

The Healer hesitates, and Harry’s stomach dips. Then the Healer says, ‘He’s stable. We’ve put him into a magically-induced coma.’

 

‘What does that mean?’ Harry asks, reaching out to grip the chair in front of him.

 

‘It means that we need to decide how best to heal him, and this will keep him in a stable state until we can do that,’ the Healer says. He spreads his hands out on his desk. ‘If we could know more about the spell that hit him, the circumstances that brought him here…’ He shrugs at Harry. ‘Unfortunately I think that my colleague had an, uhm, disagreement with the person who might have been able to tell us.’

 

‘What?’ Harry asks.

 

The Healer sighs. ‘My colleague can be a little bit quick to, uhm, make assumptions. Your godfather’s, uhm, friend – ‘

 

‘Partner,’ Harry corrects him.

 

‘Ah, ok,’ the Healer says awkwardly, ‘I’d thought so but didn’t want to make, uhm, assumptions. Anyway, he was very upset when my colleague was a little, uhm, hesitant to heal someone who is supposed to be in Azkaban…’

 

‘Isn’t it your duty to heal people?’ Harry demands. ‘Regardless of who they are?’

 

‘Funnily enough,’ the Healer says, ‘that was the exact argument that your godfather’s partner made. Unfortunately my colleague took it a bit poorly to have his job described to him by a werewolf.’

 

Harry frowns. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

 

The Healer’s eyes widen. ‘Surely you know how, uhm, some people feel about, uhm, Dark Creatures?’

 

Harry glares and wishes Hermione was there. She’d have done well in this fight. ‘Bigoted, you mean. That’s how some people feel.’

 

The Healer hesitates. ‘It’s not an opinion shared by all,’ he says finally, ‘but he is my senior colleague…’

 

‘Well, keep him away from Sirius,’ Harry says. ‘And let Remus come tell you what happened. He’ll know what spells were used.’

 

‘Let’s give it an hour,’ the Healer says. Harry starts to protest, but the Healer holds up his hand and says, ‘It will give your godfather a little more time to begin the healing process, and it will also give my colleague a chance to finish for the day.’ He shakes his head at Harry. ‘You missed the row they had earlier. It wasn’t pleasant. I’d prefer it if we could avoid those two seeing each other again for a while.’

 

Harry hesitates. He doesn’t really care if it’s pleasant or not. However, if it’s better for Sirius… He acquiesces and starts to leave the room, intent on speaking with Remus. As the Healer opens the office door for him, he says, ‘Listen, you should tell the werewolf –‘

 

‘Remus,’ Harry interrupts. ‘That’s his name. Remus Lupin.’

 

The Healer huffs out a laugh. ‘The Daily Prophet seems to have gotten some of your character right, anyway. But listen. Please tell, uhm, Mr Lupin that he saved your godfather’s life.’

 

Harry finds Remus sitting in the waiting room with his head in his hands. All the waiting wizards and witches are staring at him and sitting as far away from him as possible. Harry takes the seat beside his and when he doesn’t move, awkwardly reaches out and puts a hand on his arm.

 

‘Harry,’ Remus says, voice muffled by his hands. ‘What did the Healer say?’

 

‘He says Sirius is in a magically-induced coma, and that in a little bit, he’d like to talk to you –‘ Remus raises his head and frowns at Harry ‘—it’s a new Healer, different from the first one you, uh, spoke with,’ Harry adds. ‘But he says Sirius is stable.’ Remus breathes out raggedly and puts his head back into his hands, shoulders hunched. ‘And he wants you to tell him what kind of spells he might have been hit by.’ Remus nods without looking up. ‘Also he wanted me to tell you that you saved his life.’ Remus doesn’t respond to that.

 

‘What, uh, happened with the other Healer?’ Harry asks. ‘He said you’d had a row.’

 

Remus lifts his head and exhales. ’Yes, well. He didn’t want to treat Sirius because he’s a wanted man. I had other ideas.’ Remus looks up and smiles, though it in no way reaches his eyes. ‘He seemed to think that werewolves shouldn’t have ideas. He announced my,’ Remus punctuates this with an eyeroll, ‘status to the entire waiting room and forbade me from seeing Sirius.’ Remus smiles again and nods toward the room and the frightened looking people who populate it. ‘I’m afraid it’s made me rather unpopular in here.’

 

‘Well that’s stupid,’ Harry says loudly. ‘What do they expect, that the moon is suddenly going to come out in the middle of the day?’

 

Remus raises an eyebrow. ‘You’d be surprised what kinds of things people think when they hear there’s a werewolf in their midst.’ Then he smiles again. ‘But I appreciate it, Harry.’ He swallows and looks down at the floor. ‘By the way, Harry, I’m so sorry.’

 

‘For what?’ Harry asks.

 

‘For having to involve you in this,’ Remus says bleakly. ‘For taking you away from your conversation with Albus. I think if I hadn’t lost my temper with the Healer, I wouldn’t have needed to get you. But they wouldn’t let me see him. They needed his legal next of kin.’

 

‘Yeah, well,’ Harry says, ‘I thought Sirius was… you know. So I’m really glad you came to get me. And Kingsley said it was a disgrace that they could throw you out anyway.’

 

‘Why did he say that?’ Remus asks, frowning. 

 

‘He said that you, uh,’ Harry swallows, then rushes onward, ‘might as well be married anyway so they should have just accepted you as his next of kin.’

 

‘Kingsley said that, did he?’ Remus asks, and for a second he sounds like his old, wry self. Then he presses his fingers into the corners of his eyes while Harry carefully looks at the floor, and continues, back to sounding weary, ‘I’ll have to send him a thank you note for outing us.’

 

Harry hesitates, but he has to know, because people have been keeping a lot from him, it seems: ‘Why didn’t you and Sirius tell me?’ He tries not to sound petulant. ‘Did you think it would bother me?’

 

‘No,’ Remus says immediately. He finally looks at Harry, concern obvious in his face. ‘No, no, not at all. Sirius wanted to tell you. He’s wanted to for ages. I just thought,’ and he looks away again, towards the doors into the treatment area, and Harry has an idea that he’s looking for Sirius to help him, ‘well, I just thought you should get to know him first.’

 

‘Get to know Sirius, you mean?’ Harry asks, and Remus nods.

 

‘He is your godfather, after all,’ he says. He looks quickly at one family sitting not too far away and the mother lifts up her young daughter and puts her on her lap, glaring at him. Remus drops his head again as Harry glares back at her. He has a sudden inkling that Remus was maybe worried that Harry would care that he’s a werewolf.

 

He’s searching for a way to tell Remus that he never would when Remus says, ‘I hope you know that this is – was – never what your parents would have wanted for you, Harry.’ He spreads out his hands and looks at them. ‘All of this, the war, Voldemort, the role you’re being forced to play in it… James and Lily wanted you to just be a normal boy, to have a happy childhood and go to Hogwarts and have a happy time.’ He straightens up and leans his head back against the wall. ‘Sirius and I… we’re trying so hard to know what’s right for you but also to honour what they would have wanted.’ He huffs a shaky laugh and looks at Harry, smiling. ‘It turns out that trying to be someone’s parent is incredibly difficult.’

 

Harry grins back at him. ‘It can’t help that Voldemort’s after me.’

 

‘No,’ Remus agrees, ‘I think we’d much rather be angry with you for drinking too much firewhiskey and getting caught breaking into Slytherin.’

 

‘I don’t think you’d really be angry about that,’ Harry suggests. ‘I know Sirius wouldn’t be.’

 

Remus’s mouth does something complicated and he shuts his eyes for a second. ‘You never know,’ he says. ‘After he spoke with you about “Dumbledore’s Army” as I’ve heard it’s called he was absolutely tortured by the thought of what Lily would have said if she’d heard him.’

 

Harry laughs. ‘But you told me that you thought my parents would be proud of me!’

 

‘We did,’ Remus agrees. He looks back at Harry and clearly tries to smile. ‘They would be,’ he says firmly. ‘Sirius is.’ He swallows hard. ‘And for what it’s worth, I am too.’

 

‘It’s worth a lot,’ Harry says quietly. ‘I reckon that my parents would have wanted to know that you were both looking after me, too.’

 

‘We both swore we would,’ Remus says. ‘It felt so strange then, like we were playing at being adults. But Lily and James meant it.’ He pauses and adds, ‘Of course, Peter swore too. But disregard that.’

 

The doors into the healing area swing open and Remus stands. Harry recognises the Healer he spoke with earlier. He walks over to them, trailed by a thick sheaf of floating parchment with several quills poised over it, taking rapid notes. Harry sees that one of the quills seems to be continuously drawing a heartbeat down the open section of an incredibly fat roll of parchment, but he has no idea how to interpret if it’s healthy or not.

 

‘Harry,’ the Healer says, shaking Harry’s hand, ‘and you must be Remus?’ Remus nods and the Healer shakes his hand quickly. Harry can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on them, presumably as some of them have realised that he is Harry Potter, hanging out with a known werewolf. He wonders how many of them have seen the most recent Daily Prophet, which he assumes is already full of information about the battle at the Ministry.

 

‘I’d like to have a chat in my office,’ the Healer says. He leads them through the double doors, leaving behind the prying eyes. They follow him down a narrow corridor full of bustling people in white robes. Harry sees Remus’s eyes flicking to every curtain-shuttered room that they pass, but the rooms reveal nothing.

 

The Healer situates them in his office and offers them tea, then quizzes them on Bellatrix’s spell, and the veil in the Department of Mysteries, and the aftermath of the battle. All the while, his quills scroll out ink on at least a dozen pieces of parchment.

 

Remus and the Healer cannot come up with a satisfactory explanation about what Bellatrix cast on Sirius. ‘I rather suspect,’ Remus says finally, holding his tea cup mechanically without drinking from it, ‘that it’s a dark spell we don’t know. It was red, not green, and non-verbal, and that’s really all I can say.’

 

‘A spell we don’t know?’ the Healer asks, sceptical.

 

‘The Death Eaters are well known to invent spells,’ Remus says. ‘The exsanguination spell that caused so many problems in the last war against Voldemort’ – the Healer nearly drops his cup and for a second every quill except the one recording the heartbeat stops before resuming their frantic races across the parchment – ‘was invented only a year before his downfall, I believe.’ Remus’s eyes are unfocused; he’s looking blankly at the edge of the Healer’s handsome wooden desk. ‘Or so I recall, perhaps it was invented sooner but not in use.’

 

‘Is it really the Death Eaters?’ the Healer asks, and Harry has to bite his tongue to stop from shouting at him, this officious little man who holds so much power over his godfather.

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says. ‘And it really is Voldemort.’

 

The man winces and says, ‘Yes, so the Prophet said, but I didn’t know if I should believe it…’

 

‘You didn’t want to believe it,’ Remus says quietly.

 

‘No,’ the Healer agrees. ‘I didn’t lose anyone in the last war but it scares me just the same. And life is going to get a lot harder for healers if the violence keeps up…’

 

Harry thinks of Remus, and Sirius, and what they lost in the last war. They’re not pretending it isn’t happening. Remus is still staring blankly at the desk in front of him. Then the Healer says, business-like again, ‘One last question. Did you perform a healing spell of any kind of him before you brought him here?’

 

Remus blinks. ‘I suppose… not a spell, per se.’

 

‘Some other kind of healing magic?’

 

Harry is confused; the Healer sounds annoyed, now, which makes little sense. Remus says, voice dull, ‘Werewolf magic.’

 

‘Right,’ the Healer says, ‘I rather thought so, once I learned what you are.’ Harry glares at him and he says quickly, ‘Werewolves have great healing powers, of course. So they can heal themselves after the full moon. But if you apply those powers to a human, well. The effect is rather strong.’

 

Remus has gone paler than normal as the Healer speaks. Harry says quickly, ‘But you said he would have died if not for Remus.’

 

‘Right,’ the Healer says, nodding. ‘Right. He’ll just need to recover from the stress of the healing spell as well as whatever he was hit with and the effects of the veil.’

 

‘At least he’s alive,’ Harry says. He stands. ‘Can we see him now?’

 

The Healer leads them to a private room and lets them inside before scurrying away, seeming glad to be done with them. As he’s turning to head back to his office, he calls that he’ll return soon and they should fetch him if anything with the patient changes, and then he whips out of sight, the edge of his white robe flying behind him. Harry turns back and nearly runs into Remus, who seems to be temporarily frozen in the doorway. Harry sees Sirius, who is deathly pale, his eyes shut, his hair spread out darkly against a white pillowcase that makes his face seem grey, and he is reminded strongly of the night he first met his godfather. Remus suddenly lunges across the room, takes one of Sirius’s hands in both of his, and sinks back into a chair beside the bed. After a second, he looks back at Harry, and then releases Sirius’s hand with one of his own just long enough to conjure another chair on the other side of the bed.

 

‘Please,’ he says, ‘sit.’

 

Harry sits down, suddenly exhausted. After a few minutes of near silence, broken only by the sounds of their breathing and the constant scurry of feet down the corridor outside, Harry is startled awake by Remus saying, ‘Somehow, despite all that we’ve been through, I’ve never done this.’

 

‘Done what?’ Harry asks groggily.

 

Remus is looking down at Sirius’s hand the way he’d been looking at the Healer’s desk. Harry thinks he looks utterly drained, even more so than normal. ‘Sat at Sirius’s bedside when he was injured,’ Remus says. ‘He never got injured in the last war, not seriously, not anything we couldn’t heal with some bandages and spells.’ He takes a deep breath and says, ‘And I – I got hit with a very bad spell once, they thought I would have died if I wasn’t a werewolf and able to heal myself quickly – but I didn’t want to be brought here, to St Mungo’s, because I knew they wouldn’t treat me well, so they just took me home.’ He smiles, the corners of his mouth just barely turning up, and adds, ‘Thank god, I think Sirius would have gone crazy sitting in the hospital waiting for me.’ He pauses. ‘Of course the worst part of this is how still he is. Sirius has never been still a day in his life, not even when he was by my bedside. Kept pacing around, rearranging the furniture, _fussing_. Even when he came back from Azkaban, he wasn’t still. Not like this.’

 

Harry feels like he’s being allowed into a private world. Remus isn’t looking at him and he gets the impression that speaking about this subject is taking a great deal of effort. Also… ‘Were you together then too?’ Harry asks quietly. ‘During the first war?’ Remus, lips pressed tightly together, nods. Suddenly it’s imperative for Harry to know: ‘Did… did my parents know you were together?’

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says.

 

‘So when they made Sirius my godfather, they must have thought you’d be there too, right?’

 

Remus swallows. ‘Yes, I think they did.’ He pauses and adds, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been… more distant than I should have been. I didn’t want to intrude on your life.’

 

Harry shakes his head, his throat suddenly tight, and looks at Sirius, who, the first night they had met, had offered him a different kind of family. He wants it so badly that he can taste it, a metallic emotions in the back of his throat.

 

When he lets sleep overtake him a few minutes later, the last thing he sees is Remus, still leaning forward, still holding Sirius’s hand tight.


	4. St Mungo's

Like many children who grow up in unhappy circumstances, Sirius Black loves to read. 

He starts with children’s books like Maurice the Mad Muggle and Dragonriders but quickly progresses to scaling the shelves in 12 Grimmauld Place in search of longer, more immersive stories. The summer before he goes to Hogwarts, he runs away from home for a few hours and finds himself in an immense downpour shivering outside of a Muggle public library. He feels ashamed that he can’t protect himself from the rain magically and utterly terrified of entering a space full of Muggles, who according to his cousins do things like casually murder Wizarding children, but he’s wet and cold so he ducks inside the lobby and tries to make himself small and invisible to Muggle eyes. A Muggle librarian spots him almost immediately and, after giving him tea and biscuits that he’s too busy wolfing down to remember to worry about poison, she asks him if he’d like to read a book while he waits for the rain to pass. He stammers out that he would, and she asks him what subjects he likes. He can’t think of a thing that wouldn’t sound odd, so, gently, she asks him if he’d like to read about animals. Sirius is fascinated by animals and his chief reason for wanting to go to Hogwarts is so he can have a pet, something he has wanted all his life but that his parents have not allowed. He nods excitedly. The librarian brings him a dog-eared old book called If Only They Could Talk, about the adventures of a Muggle veterinarian in Yorkshire, and Sirius falls in love with it. He steals it from the library and keeps it in his room, hidden, for Muggle artefacts are taboo in the Black family. That single book opens up an entire new world of literature to him, and he hungrily devours books from that one too whenever he can find them. 

Books provide an entry point into friendship with the boy he’s unhealthily obsessed with his first year at Hogwarts, and when he confronts Remus about his lycanthropy at the start of their second year, he defuses the situation by describing all the reading he’s done on the topic. Sirius comes to understand that a book he’s read is the most intimate gift he can give: it’s like recommending a secret lover. He only ever gives books to Remus. 

There are no books in Azkaban. There is nothing, really, in Azkaban, except time. Years ago, Sirius cast a spell to attune himself to the phases of the moon and that is how he knows how much has passed; the sliver of a white timepiece in the sky comes to him when his eyes are shut, flaring like an afterglow on the dark side of his eyelids. In lieu of books, he tries to remember quotes from those he read before this place and scratch them into the stone walls of his cell. He rarely gets past The Count of Monte Cristo: ‘All human wisdom is contained in these two words--"Wait and Hope”.’ 

And after Azkaban, there are so many books, too many, all the books he’s missed out on and all the ones that he already had known he would never get to before he went. He dreams that he’s surrounded by them, stacks and stacks that stretch to the ceiling, places he’ll never go, things he’ll never know. He dreams and dreams – 

Sirius Black is eleven years old. His Hogwarts letter is spread open carefully on his desk, his trunk open and empty, awaiting Kreacher to fill it with all of the new things that wait in paper-wrapped packages, fresh from Diagon Alley. He has a beautiful new eagle owl and robes that feel weightless when they slide through his fingers. He has a stack of books – 

The flat they share, that Sirius always calls ‘ours’ and Remus never calls anything but ‘Sirius’s’, is crammed with bookshelves, some of them overflowing, and they cannot resist a book sale, the hardcovers for 10p offered on plastic covered tables on the rain-slick pavement under the bridge across the river from Charing Cross, the treasures they find, together, the worlds they’ll escape into, safely ensconced in their own private space, and James will take the piss, he always does, but it’s fond, and Peter will laugh at whatever he says, but it’s fond…

Peter…

And they buy a book for Harry, a book about learning spells, A is for Accio and B is for Banishing and C is for Colloportus, and Remus jokes darkly that A is for Avada Kedavra …

Harry…

Sirius swims upwards into consciousness through what feels like a deep and murky sea. For an eternity, he can’t open his eyes, just feel pain. It laces throughout his entire body, agonising, making him want to twitch his muscles but he can’t… quite… seem… to do it. Slowly, so so slowly, he becomes aware of a weight on his ankles. And then he finally figures out how to open his eyes. The room is a shade of white beyond any he has ever known, so bright it blinds him, and he shuts them again almost immediately and then opens them just enough to squint against the light. He is in a bed somewhere and James is asleep in a chair facing him, his mouth open, his glasses drooping down his nose. 

Except James is dead. Has been dead a long time. No, this is Harry, looking more like his father every day. Sirius tries to reach out to him but moving his arm seems like a task too far. He manages to move his eyes to see that the weight on his legs is Remus, sound asleep, who even deep in slumber appears exhausted. Sirius decides to let them sleep. He’s worked out that he’s in St Mungo’s, but no Dementors seem in imminent danger of knocking down the door. He shuts his eyes and falls into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Letter, 14 July, the summer after Harry’s fifth year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post something to say that this is not a dead fic. Apologies if you've been waiting a long time for what is a very brief update. I should have more free time coming up soon -- new job + finishing some schooling has left me without time to write. Thank you as always for reading!

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? Are you keeping well? How are the Dursleys treating you? AD still says that you have to stay there ( **he’s also asked us to stop asking, but Sirius isn’t going to let that deter him – R** ). Too bad. You could be hanging about in hospital, keeping me company ( **And I could use the break, he’s driving me round the bend – R** )._

_So Fudge is out as Minister? I guess I can stop counting the days since he’s owed me an apology; it seems very unlikely that I’ll be receiving one ( **not that he should have expected one in the first place, really – R** ). Scrimgeour is a definite change of pace but we both think that he’s the kind to value security over ethics, if you know what I mean. AD hinted that he might try to make contact with you. Just a warning._

_How’s the cooking around your place, by the way? Hospital food is going to finish off the job that Bellatrix started ( **Please don’t send him anything, he’s on a special healing diet and if you send him something then I’ll never hear the end of how I’ve refused to go to the shops every hour to buy him another Toffee Crisp – R** )._

_We’re going to listen to the Harpies game now, they’re playing versus Lancashire and we’re very interested in finding out how that new keeper is going to do. Supposedly the best in the junior league, but we’ll see if she can compete at this level – looking forward to hearing your analysis, if you get a chance to listen. I’ve tried to get Remus to make a little wager with me about the match but he’s no fun at all ( **He wanted to wager a walk around the hallway, and the last time we did that, he fainted. – R** )._

_Talk soon,_

_Padfoot and Moony_


	6. Two Years Ago, almost exactly, Gwynedd

They come inside because of the rain; somewhere in the course of their conversation, it has transitioned from dampening mist to drenching sheets and the drooping thatched eaves were no longer sufficient shelter. The door from the garden leads into the kitchen, and once there, Sirius watches Remus gravitate towards the kettle. He shakes the water from his hair – the weight of it feels strange after the haircut Remus had given him last night, though he is getting used to it – and watches the other man. Methodically Remus fills the kettle from the tap, places it on its stand, and flips a switch atop it. It is a Muggle device powered by electricity. Sirius remembers this fact, and feels a little adrenaline surge of triumph, like he does every time he remembers something that Azkaban should have taken from him.

Remus is leaning back against the kitchen counter, clearly watching Sirius. Sirius thinks that Remus is wary. He looks exhausted and so much older and his eyes are puffy. Sirius thinks of last night: of seeing himself in a proper mirror for the first time in thirteen years; the glass shattering in his horror, an involuntary magical reaction, and he hadn’t been so out of control with magic since he was a teenager. And Remus hadn’t run into the room, but instead had knocked almost instantly, so Sirius knew that he’d been outside the door the whole time, no doubt anticipating the incident… 

‘Sirius,’ Remus says now, gently, and Sirius refocuses. He knows that he’s having trouble with time. He knows that he keeps getting stuck out of the present form of it, back in memory, whether from ten years ago or last night, and that Remus is being so patient at recalling him to it, but that there’s gaps, unaccountable gaps, while his brain flies over details that it never should have been made to forget. 

‘Sirius,’ Remus repeats. 

‘Sorry,’ Sirius says. ‘Sorry, sorry.’

‘I know,’ Remus says. He smiles, just a quick, closed mouth flash, flicks his gaze up and to the side, blinks. Sirius remembers that this is how Remus looks when he doesn’t want to cry. He’s been remembering that a lot in the last forty eight hours. Without thinking, Sirius moves forward, and Remus puts his arms around him and holds him. Sirius can feel the tension in Remus’s arms, feel that he wants to hold him more tightly, but they both know that Sirius is fragile right now, and prone to bolting from too much touch, sight, sound, too much anything, really, but Sirius wants Remus to know that he won’t bolt from this, so he slides his arms under Remus’s and curves his hands up to squeeze Remus’s shoulders from behind, and just clings. He feels Remus’s nose press into his hair behind his ear, feels Remus’s breath, hot and fast and ragged, enveloping his neck in a kind of moist second embrace, and he squeezes Remus’s shoulders a little bit harder to stay anchored in the here and now. It occurs to him belatedly that he may be squeezing rather more than is comfortable, but Remus does not complain. 

The kettle clicks. Remus keeps one arm around Sirius and with the other slowly gathers two mugs and drops two teabags into them. Then he has to stretch to reach for the kettle, and Sirius leans back to let him, and as Remus comes back, kettle in one hand, he leans forward a fraction and his lips brush Sirius’s. It’s clearly deliberate, but it’s also clearly done out of pure habit, and Remus jerks back, regret instantly obvious on his face. 

Sirius reaches up to run his fingers over his lips. They tingle. They’re skin long untouched too. 

‘Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,’ Remus says. He’s completely let go of Sirius now, and looks mortified. ‘I just didn’t think at all,’ and here he sort of flaps his hands, more flustered than Sirius has seen him in two days of emotional post-mortem. ‘It just, you were there, I was here, just, I’m an idiot, a fucking idiot, completely, utterly…’

‘It’s all right,’ Sirius manages to say. He knows the next thing out of his mouth is going to hurt, but he says it anyway. ‘I wanted to do that again someday.’ And there’s that feeling, his throat aching, his eyes starting to run, and he can’t quite look directly at Remus so he focuses on the tiles at hand height and says, ‘Fuck, I need some kind of drip system, maybe a gutter running directly from my face,’ trying to make a joke about how he’s been basically leaking tears and mucus for the last two days, but Remus makes a weird choking noise that definitely does not sound like a laugh and when Sirius looks up, startled, he sees that Remus, who until just an hour ago, until he’d found that stupid, stupid ring, had been handling the entire situation so stoically that Sirius had almost been fooled by the façade, is crying again. Remus Lupin, crying for the second time in an hour – for the second time in a year, in a decade, Sirius isn’t sure that this has ever happened before, because he remembers that Remus cried when he’d confronted him about being a werewolf (so, twelve years old) and had then cried again when his father had been murdered by Death Eaters (so, twenty years old) and nothing in between. 

What Remus says next does not fit into anything Sirius remembers either. From the way that Remus is looking at him, he becomes aware that more time has passed than is probably normal for a conversation. He opens his mouth to say something, say anything, but Remus says instead: 

‘I’ve thought a lot about this, you know.’ Remus looks steadily into Sirius’s face. ‘About what I did wrong. About how I could do it better. If I had, you know,’ he takes a deep breath, ‘a second chance.’ 

Sirius doesn’t – he doesn’t know how to feel. He has spent so long wanting this, and knowing that he’ll never really have it, that the few brief years where he did have it feel like a dream, and all the years around it feel like the reality. Remus is waiting for him to say something. ‘Are you,’ he tries. Stops. Starts again. ‘How would…’

‘I was a fool last time,’ Remus says quickly. ‘What’s the song? “You don’t know what you got till it’s gone”?’ He rolls his eyes, ever self-deprecating. ‘I never knew how much I,’ he pauses, and Sirius can see him make the deliberate decision to soldier on, and that makes Sirius love him so much, so very, very much, in the space between these words, ‘well, how much I need you in my life.’ Remus pauses, clears his throat. ‘Until you were gone. But now,’ and here his voice breaks, ‘you’re here again. And we could.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘We could, you know.’

Sirius swallows hard. ‘Yes,’ he says. This is a terrible idea. Even he, Sirius Black, prince, king, lord god emperor of bad ideas, like not trusting the man you love, knows that this is a terrible idea. Most of the time he feels barely human, let alone capable of sharing a life with another human. But. But he wants this. He wants it so much. 

Remus’s hands are on his face then, cupping it, one hand sliding into his hair, and he is kissing him, gentle and searching. There is a long moment where that is all that happens in the room, and Sirius’s head is empty of everything but this, and he stays there, in that moment. 

‘Yes?’ Remus asks against his mouth. 

‘I’m going to be a disaster,’ Sirius gasps. ‘You know I am.’ A terrible thought occurs to him. ‘I’m not even sure, I mean, it’s been a long time. I don’t know how, if, you know. It might take some, well, some time.’

‘I know,’ Remus says. He pauses. ‘I don’t think I care.’ He leans back. ‘But listen, if you don’t, if you can’t, if you don’t want me…’

Sirius shakes his head, unable to speak. 

‘Or,’ Remus continues, ‘if you think I’m not attractive anymore…’

‘Shut up,’ Sirius says, startled into a laugh. ‘You’re gorgeous. I’m the one who looks like a horror show. So just shut up, Remus Lupin.’

Remus grins wolfishly. ‘Make me.’


	7. Hogwarts, about twenty years ago

James is the kind of middle class that has quite enough money; that always has a new, large flying carpet rolled up in the garage; that lives in a rambling big country house with homey but obviously curated decoration; that can afford to let a son take a year off after Hogwarts to ‘sort out what he wants to do in life’; that has parents who work but who never seem to work too much and who go on long holidays to stay in a cottage in the south of France every summer. The cottage will be described later over drinks in the way that someone else might describe a prospective wife: lovely; charming; diminutive. James is aware of his own privilege but in a benevolent, unsuspecting way. He has ideas about cleaning his own kitchen when he moves away from home and teaches himself domestic spells. He thinks of money as something his parents possess and imagines a post-Hogwarts lifestyle of small, leaky flats forming a backdrop against his own inevitable rise to the exact same comfortable place in society. He almost never notices the circumstances of those below him in the class chain, and will happily lend money to Peter or Remus without them even having to ask. Conversely, he finds his knowledge of the rich to be exacting, and in the presence of the truly wealthy he has a ubiquity of awareness at the differences between them. 

Peter is from a family that wants to be in the Potters’ position: the aspiring working class. They live in a two-up, two-down house with windows at the front and back that have views only of streets and train tracks, respectively. The house is in a dingy part of a northern town and both have seen better times. It is cosy, especially with Peter’s three younger sisters bouncing around, but after Peter’s father dies when he is nine and his mother has to make up for his absence by running their robe-making business out of the front room herself – even fitting two robes on the day of the funeral, rest in peace, such a tragedy, with the children so little and all – the house takes on an air of neglect. Items that once spoke excitedly to the children droop and lean; plates are always in the sink, grime growing in the corners, a shattered window papered over rather than repaired. Peter tells Remus about his dad within two days, but it takes him longer to say anything to James and even longer to Sirius. Peter thinks a lot about ways to make money, and he finds the circumstances of his friends’ lives so alien as to be almost threatening. His first visit to James’s house results in a near-existential crisis about his own place in the universe and the factors at work that give James both parents alive and well and living in this amazing house and Peter just the one who works all hours to keep them in their small and dingy space. 

Remus is an interesting kind of poor. His mother is well-educated, a Muggle – Remus being the only one between them with a close Muggle relative – and has a tremendous number of Opinions. Remus likes listening to them but finds quickly that sharing them is probably not advised. Teenage boy wizards are very uninterested in things like feminism. Remus’s father used to be a writer of some kind – he’s delightful to speak with, but always changing the subject so that the listener is left with only a vague impression of his own past – and his surname can be traced to records of an orphaned French boy. Only the most dedicated sleuth would follow the trail and realise that he was once part of a very different, rather larger family than just the three people – mother, father, son – who compose the entirety of the Lupin name in the Wizarding World. Remus’s poverty seems to stem from something else, with parents like he has. They run a small bookstore that specialises in getting Muggle books to wizarding customers, and yet, they never seem to have two pence to rub together. Remus has shabby clothes, second-hand books, slightly used-up everything, but he is so expert at blending into the background that very few people actually perceive this about him. 

Sirius, at first glance, is the kind of boy for whom the word scion was invented: signet rings and the family crest embroidered on his robes. At second glance, he becomes the kind of boy of whom knowing intimately verges upon a bad idea; at third glance, it’s clear that he’s the black sheep, and it's well-earned. The Black family is ancient, and it and Pureblood society have deemed it noble, with a large house in London and a stately manor in the gentle country of the Cotswolds, and business and political and blood ties to Everyone who is Anyone in the Wizarding World. Sirius's mother has held an ambassadorship to the Nordic countries for most of his life and his father travels often to secure financial deals and monitor the family's assets around the world. When Sirius arrives at Hogwarts, he is wrapped in an ermine-lined cloak and exudes an air of privileged charm that will, in the next seven years, sour and crack and disintegrate, nothing so easy as a snake shedding its skin; more of a wounded dog struggling to free itself from a trap, resorting to gnawing at its own leg and vowing to leave behind less than it takes. That first night at Hogwarts, when, not by choice (because he begs and begs with the Sorting Hat, his hands clamped on its leathery sides to prevent it from flying off his head, please, please, I am a Slytherin, we all are, I must be...) but by character he is flung from his mother's favour (his father has never liked him, as the eldest child who took his mother's affection). By the simple act of being placed in Gryffindor House, Sirius is cast into purgatory, a place where he is neither quite of the Black family nor not of it, but an intruder, a hungry child at the window, looking in with clenched hands while swearing that he is not ravenous. It takes him an additional six years to truly be banished, and even then, his Uncle Alphard leaves him enough money that he can still live the only way he knows how: profligately. Money is another thing that he is keenly aware separates him from the others. He overcompensates, often. Very early on in his unfolding of romantic feelings for Remus, he buys him a gift so extravagant -- to Remus -- that Remus won’t even speak with him for days. It takes him years to understand why. 

These are the four boys (men) of Gryffindor House, and it is a testament to some ineffable chemistry between them that four people of such different background and character could spend seven years in the same small room together and emerge friends. And not just friends, but the kind of friends who are brothers, who have taken oaths, who have broken Wizarding Law and turned themselves into Animagi for each other, with each other, and who will soon be blood brothers, fighting a war together. This is why it is so difficult, when things do start to fall apart, for any of them to understand or react appropriately. Even Peter, the one who has always seen them all the clearest and who is able to use that to actually complete the business of making things fall apart, doesn’t really understand how or why it happens the way it does -- and he spends thirteen years as a rat thinking about it. He wonders often if he had just been able to talk to James -- they’re both prey animals, James might have understood this fear, this constant, gnawing fear… but it’s too late for that now. When he does see Remus and Sirius again, it is just as he always expected: that he was always the least of them, and they all knew it.


	8. The summer after Harry's fifth year

It has been a cold, clammy, miserable summer, without any warm weeks to redeem it, and so Harry is asleep burrowed under the duvet in his room when he hears the doorbell. He rolls over and tries to ignore the sounds below – footsteps, the door opening, his aunt’s voice – but then there’s another voice, this one with a familiar cadence, and Harry sits upright so fast he almost knocks a lamp off the bedside table. He scrambles out of bed and yanks on his clothing from the day before, easily accessible as it is from the pile on the floor, and then stops to take a deep breath. Why is Remus here? Why didn’t he send a letter? Is it bad news? Why hasn’t his aunt called him down? Is it about Sirius? He glances involuntarily at the stack of letters he keeps beside the bed, most of them written in Remus’s neat hand, having been dictated (with much editorial content) by Sirius. Recently Sirius has been feeling well enough to write himself, though. Panic constricts Harry’s stomach; what if Sirius has had a setback? 

He walks quietly down the stairs, trying to listen, but can only hear the murmur of voices from the kitchen; coming around the corner, he sees his aunt smiling, and Remus seated, dressed perfectly passably if a bit shabbily as a Muggle. He’s holding a steaming mug of tea and also smiling. 

‘Hello?’ Harry says, and Remus looks up at him and smiles even more widely. His aunt’s smile has disappeared. 

‘Hello, Harry.’ Remus sets down his mug of tea and nods at Petunia. ‘I was just speaking with your aunt here about having you over today to see Sirius.’

‘It would be nice to have you out of the house,’ Petunia says quickly. 

‘Yes,’ Harry agrees, staring at Remus. ‘Really nice.’ 

‘Excellent.’ Remus stands, leaving his tea behind, and says directly to Harry, ‘He’s just been able to come home. If we have you back here before this time tomorrow, everything with the protection spells should be fine.’ 

‘Are there protection spells?’ Harry asks, as Petunia says, ‘Spells? Here?’

‘Of course,’ Remus says soothingly. ‘Everyone wants to make certain that your family is well looked after, Petunia. They’re invisible and silent, only intended to be detectable by a few people.’ 

Somehow, Petunia looks mollified. Harry doesn’t want to question it; he runs upstairs and grabs his bookbag, shoving some clean clothes into it. Remus and Petunia say pleasant goodbyes -- Harry has no idea what is going on there -- and then Remus takes his arm and they Apparate. 

They are standing in a grassy, sloping moorland, slightly up a hill, with rocky outcrops above them and, in the distance, green fields dotted with sheep. Harry stares around them, still reeling slightly from the Apparition, as Remus takes off his cardigan and meticulously folds it and tucks it under his arm. 

‘Where are we?’ 

‘Wales,’ Remus says. ‘We have a bit of a hike to the house, I’m afraid. It’s probably going to be warm.’ 

They set off, walking sideways along the slope; the air is heavy with humidity and soon Harry is sweating despite overcast skies. He has to keep an eye on where his feet are going -- they seem to be following a path that is much narrower than his feet want it to be.

‘Sheep track,’ Remus explains. ‘They always find the best routes -- but it might be the best route only for sheep.’ He pushes his hair off his face and Harry sees that he’s sweating too. 

‘Why not just Apparate to your house?’ 

‘Ah, well,’ Remus looks back at him and smiles. ‘It’s for defence. Areas that have a high magical concentration can be detected. As an example, in the last war, it became clear that the Death Eaters had perfected the art of detecting an area where people were Apparating often -- which leaves a very flashy magical fingerprint on the landscape if you know how to look. Many wizards and witches are simply unable to live without magic and chose to just accept the risk… but my parents, well, they were already familiar with methods for trying to live without detection. So they insisted that no magic be done near the house. I still live there -- I inherited it from them.’

‘Why were they familiar…?’ Harry trails off, suddenly understanding. ‘Because of you.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Remus says. ‘Though it turns out that the transformation to werewolf is quite detectable. So they built a little area away from the house where that could be done more… safely. Of course, there are magical methods for concealment as well -- Grimmauld Place, before Kreacher, well, you know.’

‘Yeah.’ 

‘But those require a lot of skill and are easy to do poorly. We’ve never done magic at this house, so it makes sense to keep it up.’ 

‘But isn’t that…’ Harry tries to think of how to say it. ‘Isn’t that like… letting them win, kind of? Not being able to do magic?’

Remus glances back at him before returning to focus on the rocky trail. ‘I suppose that’s a way of thinking about it. But…’ 

They round a corner and suddenly the trail widens and the view opens up, although Harry can see that ahead there is a solid wall of misty cloud below their level. The scenery is breathtaking; soaring, rocky mountains, larger than any Harry has ever seen, and below them, a rock-strewn valley. Remus stops and points towards a grove of pines, dark on the side of another mountain. ‘That’s where we’re going,’ he says. ‘The house is hidden from view here.’ He takes out a handkerchief and wipes the mist off his face. ‘I think you raise a good point. But during the first war, we all had to adapt to the Death Eaters’ tactics or face, well, death.’ 

‘Like how they could track magic?’

Remus nods. ‘See, the war before that -- the one against Grindelwald -- that was a very, I guess you could say, classical war. I wasn’t around, obviously, but my impression is that everyone was finding magical swords and killing people with them, that kind of thing. There was a famous poisoning but that’s about it for subterfuge and both sides decried it as cowardly. But the way that Voldemort and the Death Eaters rose to power… they started out in the shadows. Like he has been this time. Not wanting to reveal himself or themselves too soon. Part of that is that the Death Eaters are quite smart, and quite well connected, and many of them had been studying magical problems for a long time -- like how to detect magic, how to stop Apparation, how to make wands bend against the will of their master -- those were all things that they made significant advances into during the years leading up to the war. And also, of course, their complete mastery of the Imperius curse, which I think you learned about…?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry says, trying to take in all this information. ‘So you had to adapt, on the other side.’ 

‘Exactly.’ 

They move down a steep hill and onto the valley floor, side by side on the wide path, occasionally passing the remains of old stone crofts or other evidence of past human habitation. They descend into the clouds and the air becomes heavy, a fine mist that clings to their clothes and face. 

‘What’s happening now?’ Harry asks, as soon as they are next to each other. ‘With the war?’

Harry doesn’t see Remus’s face closing off; he’s too busy watching where his feet go to avoid tripping on a rock. Remus says, ‘Regrouping, mainly. Recruiting new people to the cause.’ 

‘People who didn’t believe Voldemort was back?’ 

‘Yes. Or people who for whatever reason had to wait until he was out in the open to throw their allegiance with us.’ 

‘What about the Ministry?’ 

Remus glances over at him. ‘You read the Prophet, right?’

Harry hesitates. ‘Well, I mean, I skim it. To make sure I see all the important…’ Remus starts laughing, but it’s not at him, or if it is, it doesn’t feel mean. Harry starts laughing too. 

‘That’s quite all right, Harry,’ Remus says. ‘It’s not the most exciting thing in the world. But, my point is, Ministry politics are getting interesting. Fudge is going to resign very soon -- he’s utterly cocked up this crisis and people want someone stronger in the position. There’s a few names floating around from the opposition but I think it’s likely we’ll get this fellow named Rufus Scrimgeour.’ 

‘What’s he like?’ Harry asked. 

Remus shrugged. ‘He’s head of the Auror Office. Moody likes him well enough but isn’t surprised about him having political ambitions. He’s been to see Sirius as well, told him that he thought the pardon was “a bit hasty” which you can imagine Sirius hasn’t taken well…’ 

‘Of course not!’ Harry agrees, but the second he says it, he can see that Remus maybe doesn’t agree.

‘Not finding Sirius Black has been the biggest failure of the Auror Office. I can see how a man in his position -- angling for political office and wanting to appear strong -- might try to downplay it.’ Remus shrugs again. ‘I’m reserving my opinion until I see him in action. They’re still in the process of disentangling the Ministry from Fudge’s people -- he’s been Minister for a very long time.’

‘Harry!’

Harry looks up from his feet, startled, and realizes that they are quite close to the little stand of trees, and that nestled between them is a neat stone farmhouse with an equally neat stone wall demarcating an overgrown garden. Sirius is leaning over the wall, thin but beaming. 

‘Harry!’ he says again, and Harry takes off up the path and embraces him across the wall. He feels like skin and bones, with a slight tremor, but his grip is strong. 

‘Come in the gate, won’t you?’ Remus asks, slightly out of breath and smiling as he holds it open. Harry lets go of Sirius and walks through it, looking around at everything -- the grey stone walls of the house, the wildflowers blooming in forgotten corners, the high grass around his feet -- and then back to Sirius, who is giving Remus’s arm a squeeze and still beaming in Harry’s direction. 

‘Nice place!’ Harry says. ‘Much nicer than where you were last!’

‘St Mungo’s?’ Sirius asks. 

Harry laughs. ‘You know where I mean.’

‘I do,’ Sirius confirms, and Remus rolls his eyes and says, ‘You might think he let Kreacher ruin it as a hideout on purpose…’

‘I wish I’d been that clever,’ Sirius says ruefully, and then all three of them are laughing. 

‘How are you, Harry?’ Sirius asks. ‘I mean, really? How has your summer been?’

Harry shrugs. ‘Better now,’ he says. He looks at Remus. ‘I’m not sure how you managed to talk my aunt into letting me come here…’ 

‘Ha!’ Sirius says. ‘Rhe allure that this man has over middle-aged women is a marvel.’ 

Remus rolls his eyes. ‘I’m just polite, Sirius.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Harry says, ‘but she hates wizards!’ 

‘She knows I knew your mother,’ Remus says. ‘And, again, I’m polite about it. I don’t mention magic if I don’t have to.’ 

‘And middle-aged women love him,’ Sirius whispers.

‘Not just middle-aged women,’ Remus replies neatly, before opening the front door. ‘Shall I make dinner?’ 

***  
The interior of the farmhouse is surprisingly cozy, which is good, because the clouds set in and it begins to truly rain almost as soon as Sirius shuts the door. He shows Harry to a small room with a warm-looking bed, a desk, a bookshelf, and a series of Quidditch posters. ‘What do you think?’ he asks and Harry feels the same way that he did when SIrius had suggested two years ago that they might live together. ‘Any time you come to visit,’ Sirius adds, ‘this is yours.’ 

Harry steps into the room and puts his bag on the bed to give himself a moment to get the lump out of his throat. He glances back at Sirius and sees that he is twisting the doorknob over and over with one bony hand and looking quite nervous. ‘It’s brilliant!’ Harry says. ‘Really.’ And then to cover any awkward emotion, ‘But what about the magic? Aren’t the posters…’ 

‘You mean at the house?’ Sirius asks. He steps into the room and leans over the bed to look out the window. ‘It’s big flashy spellwork that’s the problem. Latent magic like a few posters or my medicine are not enough to really trigger it. That’s at the same level as you’d find in any place.’ 

Harry takes a deep breath. ‘I have a lot to learn about magic, SIrius.’ 

‘Don’t we all,’ Sirius agrees. ‘Do you want a moment to settle in? I’m going to help Remus with dinner.’ 

‘No, I’ll come with you,’ Harry says, ‘But --’ concerned that Sirius won’t understand -- ‘this is brilliant. I’ve never had my own room before.’ 

Sirius puts an arm around his shoulders and guides him out of the room. ‘Yes, well, I wish it could be yours all the time, but…’ 

‘Right. Professor Dumbledore explained.’ 

Sirius makes a face. ‘Soon, I hope.’ And Harry knows that this means, once Voldemort is gone.

They spend the evening cooking -- Remus does most of it, while Sirius sits at the table directing and Harry tries to help but mostly is hopeless -- and eating, a big, messy dinner; then they talk about going for a walk, but the weather has settled in for the night, a steady, driving rain, and instead they apply themselves to an ancient Muggle board game that Harry finds on a shelf, Monopoly. They are all bad at it, but it is fun, and Remus lights a fire in the grate and the entire farmhouse heats to a gentle glow. Even though Harry notices that Remus is alert, often standing and walking about, touching doorframes and windowsills, and that Sirius watches Remus whenever he does this, still, like a dog that has heard a sound, Harry feels safer than he has in months. 

They go to bed after midnight and Harry curls up in the warm bed. Buried under a soft blanket and sunk into soft pillows, he has a moment of cognizance that this is probably too nice to last, and he should enjoy it as much as he can. Then he is asleep, and he doesn’t wake until he smells sausages.

In the kitchen, Sirius is sitting at the table with the Prophet spread out before him, a grim look on his face; Remus is leaning against the counter next to the stove, from which the sausage smell is emanating. Remus is flipping through a thick stack of letters and looking concerned. 

‘You know that Emmy wouldn’t write if it wasn’t serious,’ Remus is saying, and Sirius replies, ‘But what exactly does she expect us to do about it?’ 

‘Harry,’ Remus says. Sirius turns quickly and smiles, but Harry can tell it’s strained. 

‘Bad news?’ he asks.

‘Only that we need to take you back to your aunt and uncle’s soon,’ Sirius says. Harry raises his eyebrows, and Sirius adds, ‘Really. Emmy wrote to us about something that isn’t an immediate worry.’

‘Ok,’ Harry says. ‘But you…’ 

‘Really,’ Sirius says firmly. ‘You know that I’d tell you.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Harry concedes. ‘Is that breakfast?’ 

After they eat, they go out into the garden, which is warm and fragrant from the sun, but on the horizon, clouds loom. 

‘I can’t tell if the weather is influenced by dark magic or just Welsh,’ Sirius mutters to Harry, who grins at him. 

Much too soon, Harry has to pack his things. Remus stands by the garden gate, ready to escort him back to the Dursleys. His stomach turns into a leaden pit. Sirius is suddenly too keen, fretting about everything, checking that Harry has what he brought and that he has plenty of chocolate to take with him; Harry can tell that he wishes he was coming too. They say their goodbyes and Harry can see Sirius standing at the gate, watching them, until they walk through some kind of glamour and the outlines of the farmhouse and the figure in front of it blur so that they appear to be much further away than they truly are. Remus picks up the pace, and they are too out of breath to talk, but still Remus keeps moving on, even faster, until he suddenly stops. Harry nearly runs into him, and as he recovers, he realizes that Remus’s wand is suddenly in his hand. 

‘We’re being watched,’ Remus says, very quietly. 

‘Uhm,’ Harry says, and he reaches for his wand too, but it is too late, there is a sudden burst of light and Remus has grabbed his arm and done some kind of twisting magical motion -- light spurts from his wand, not a line but a tight spiral, edges flaring, slopping over with molten energy, and whatever spell hits them, the spiral of light absorbs it. Then there is another flash of light, an animal cry Harry recognizes, and a hard jerk behind his navel as someone Apparates with him. They hit the ground, hard, and Harry staggers, but the hand around his arm is steady.

‘Remus, that was extraordinarily foolish.’ 

‘Yes, Albus.’ 

Harry figures out who is holding his arm as Remus says the words; they are standing in a tunnel not far from where he and Dudley had encountered the Dementors last year. 

‘Professor,’ he manages to say, and Dumbledore does not look at him -- he is staring only at Remus -- but he lets go of Harry’s arm and says, ‘I must go. Do not do this again, Remus.’

Remus bows his head in acquiescence, and with an elegant step and turn, Dumbledore is gone. Harry stares after him, and then says to Remus, ‘What just happened?’ 

‘Death Eaters,’ Remus says shortly. ‘Come on. Let’s get you to the Dursleys.’ 

‘But then…’ Harry pauses. ‘Is Sirius ok?’ 

‘We were well past the glamour when they caught on to us,’ Remus says. ‘They have no way of knowing where we came from. That might have been a random waypoint on a series of Apparitions we were doing to lose them.’ He looks at Harry, and Harry isn’t sure if he’s trying to reassure himself of just Harry. ‘Sirius will know if the glamour is breached. There’s alarms. He’ll get out.’ 

‘Ok,’ Harry says quietly. ‘Will you write me when you see him?’ 

‘Yes, of cousre.’

‘Are you in trouble?’

Remus laughs. ‘Probably.’ 

‘Sorry.’

‘It was our choice.’ They have arrived at the door and Aunt Petunia, who has been in the garden, is looking at them with narrowed eyes. ‘All right, Harry, we’ll see you… soon.’

‘Please,’ Harry agrees, but he doesn’t see them again until he’s preparing to board the Hogwarts Express.


	9. Remus, in the years between James and Lily's deaths and Sirius's escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few shorter sections I decided to post all at once but as separate chapters. I know this is disjointed and the stories are out of chronological order, but I do actually have a method to my madness! Thank you for reading, as always!

Remus had sex with other people in the years without Sirius. He slept with other men, with women, with people who didn’t want to choose either category, with Dark Creatures and full humans, with people who were beautiful and people who were not, people who picked him up in bars or on the side of the road and took him home for a single night of fumbling passion and people who he got to know over long periods of time, people whose sexual desires he came to anticipate intimately through practice and repetition. When they asked him about his scars, if they got far enough to see them, he’d make up stories, the more boring the better. He didn’t want to be known, or recognised later, and he was careful to never imply that it was anything more than sex. The number isn’t anywhere near as high as Sirius later imagines it is, but Remus didn’t hold back either. If someone propositioned him and he had any desire whatsoever, he went where it took him. 

During those years, when he thinks about Sirius – in his darker moments, in the thoughts that haunt him when he wakes up in the middle of the night, driving him to hate the nights he doesn’t sleep through – he thinks that if their positions were reversed, things would be different. If it had been he who had murdered their three best friends and orphaned their baby godson and Sirius whose heart had been laid waste like a Belgian field ca. 1916, Sirius would have sworn himself to celibacy. Sirius, Remus thinks, has – had, he reminds himself, had, because the Sirius he knew and loved with a wild abandon is certainly gone, subsumed by the presence of Dementors – Sirius had been the kind of dramatic personality who would never have been able to betray Remus by touching another. Remus, on the other hand, takes a vicious pleasure in betraying Sirius in every way he can, in spite fucking anything that comes his way, and if it is Sirius he thinks of at least once in every encounter, often in the final moments, and after, when he’s fleeing the scene to avoid an awkward conversation suggesting that commitment might be on the horizon, then, well, he’s not going to admit it to himself. 

It is seven years after the event, and Remus is sitting in a bar in Tokyo. 

He’d had a respectable job up until three days ago, working at a research institute studying katsune and other magical canines native to the islands of Japan. He’d loved that job. He’d gotten the position via a tip and a good word from an old colleague he’d had at UCL who still worried about him. It had been on the island of Hokkaido, deep in the mountains, with only four year-round researchers. There’d been a strong language barrier (though he’d been working on it) between him and his colleagues. Mostly they left him alone and he would spend weeks at a time tracking the creatures in the field, travelling through the forest on wooden skis that sliced and glided over the deep powder that fell for eight months of the year. Solitude suited him. He wrote long letters to Sirius, letters that he had known for years Sirius would never read because he would never send them, so they became more like a diary written to a dead person. Sometimes he’d address entries to James, Lily, or Peter, or break into the narrative to Sirius to mention something to one of them. He had probably gone crazy out there, wearing fingerless gloves in his tent, writing as his breath crystallised, but he’d found some measure of peace, at least. 

And then, just like that, a series of grant applications had been denied; the word from the outside world, which had seemed so distant only a week before, was that the global economy was going through one of its periodic paroxysms where certain powers-that-be slash scientific funding for topics unrelated to making money or weapons. The institute had to shut down, and Remus found himself on a long series of trains and ferries heading south with a work visa soon to expire without gainful employment. He didn’t have anywhere to stay when he arrived in Tokyo and absolutely no contacts in the city; it seemed likely that he’d have to find a way to leave the country with his rapidly dwindling resources or overstay his visa. He is sitting in a bar, shooting sake too cheap to sip and wondering where to sleep rough in the milder southern winter – Tokyo seems too immaculate a city to allow anyone to be homeless – when an incredibly handsome man approaches him. 

Later he would have no idea what could possibly have drawn Daisuke to him, but whatever it was, he knows exactly why he’s drawn to the other man: he reminds him of Sirius. He is dark-haired, devilishly handsome, obviously posh, with a mischievous glint in his eye that immediately makes Remus’s heart start pounding. They talk, Remus in his somewhat broken Japanese and Daisuke in his even worse English, until Daisuke invites him home. And then he leans in and does the thing that Remus has never allowed anyone else to do since Sirius: he kisses Remus full on the mouth. It feels like the crossing of a final barrier, like the last gate has fallen and Remus kisses him back, enthusiastically, optimistically, thinking that he can finally banish the spectre that has been haunting him for so many years. 

But that night, he lies awake in bed, stomach twisting with guilt and regret and longing. Beside him, Daisuke sleeps, gorgeous dark hair spread out across the pillow and one strong arm across Remus’s chest. As stupid as he knows it will sound in the light of day, Remus hates that he’d kissed Daisuke because now the last lips that have touched his will not be Sirius’s. 

Sirius had last kissed him on Halloween night, standing in the doorway of their flat, on his way out to check on James and Lily, or so he’d said. It had been a quick kiss, an interruption rather than punctuation – not quite perfunctory, Sirius was incapable of the established-couple’s light peck even four years down that road – but its brevity had promised a quick return. Remus has been thinking about that kiss for years since, searching through it the way he has every other second of their last encounter, trying to pinpoint the moment in which Sirius had suddenly stopped being his and had instead become Voldemort’s. He’s never found that moment though, and Sirius, drawing back from the kiss, exhaling, one hand already undoing the latch, had said he’d be right back. 

Then he’d walked out of Remus’s life forever. 

The ceiling of Daisuke’s place is amazing; there’s golden moulding along the edges and smooth white tiles in the centre and the lights are hidden so that it all glows but is somehow tasteful. Remus stares up at it and aches for the ceiling in the flat he and Sirius had shared, with its suspect stains and low lighting. He eventually falls back to sleep, the exhaustion of his journey overtaking him, but he’s miserable for days.

Over time, in the space of those liminal night thoughts gazing up at Daisuke’s beautiful ceiling and later, in other places, never as nice as this place, Remus develops an elaborate fantasy about going to Azkaban to see Sirius. Never mind the practicalities. He’ll walk down a dark corridor lined with cells, an older man who knows his time is drawing near, until he smells a familiar scent. Sometimes in the fantasy, he’ll have prepared himself and Sirius’s proximity won’t completely destroy him, but sometimes he admits to himself that it will. Either way, he will push through and approach the bars of the cell. He doesn’t know if he’ll be allowed inside – he has no idea how visiting works, as it seems to be a realm reserved for the wealthy and/or powerful and in reality he’ll probably have to have hatched some elaborate scheme to break in – though who’s going to stop someone breaking into Azkaban, honestly? – but for the purposes of fantasy, he is able to enter. On good days, Sirius recognises him immediately, and his apologies and explanations are perfect and he kisses Remus like the last few decades haven’t happened. On really good days, Remus smuggles him out of the prison and they spend their last bit of time together, lying in bed in a cottage not far from a quietly lapping sea and holding each other, reminiscing. Sirius confesses that he had to do it because of some perfectly reasonable explanation that Remus cannot even imagine, but it makes perfect sense when Sirius says it. 

On bad days, though, Remus imagines Sirius as he almost certainly is: broken by Azkaban, memories stripped by the Dementors, not even cognizant of time passing much less of whom the stooped man before him may have once been. Remus will press a simple kiss to his lips, carefully not looking in his eyes, and then he will whisper, ‘It has been enough,’ and put him out of his misery. 

Remus clings onto that fantasy like a lifeline for years. Daisuke and he stay together for several months before Remus can’t stand to look at himself in the mirror, weighed down as he is with betrayal. Daisuke is a wonderful partner but Remus’s memories have poisoned this, too. He hates Sirius, he loves Sirius, he can’t escape Sirius, and so he flees Tokyo like he’s fled everywhere else and keeps running and doesn’t stop until the day he sees Sirius himself, on a Muggle news report in a dusty cantina in the north Mexican desert. Then he thinks that the news story must be that he’s died, and he can’t breathe, even after all these years, until someone beside him makes a comment about the escape, and now suddenly there’s too much air in the world and Remus thinks he will fill up with it and float away. Dumbledore writes to him and he drops everything and on the long journey to King’s Cross via Mexico City he debates with himself what percentage of his return is for Harry, and what percentage is purely selfish.


	10. The summer after the Triwizard Tournament

Sirius wants desperately to be useful to the Order, and Remus knows it, but he doesn’t quite know how much until Sirius suggests the possibility of using #12 Grimmauld Place as headquarters. 

Remus has been in that house twice – once, when they were sixteen and through a complicated chain of events he had stayed the night without Sirius’s parents finding out, and again, the day after Peter’s ‘funeral’, when Sirius’s parents had summoned Remus there and then tried to give him money. It had taken Remus fully thirty minutes of his own stunted silences and Sirius’s mother’s increasingly difficult-to-understand ramblings as she sloshed gin over the edge of her martini glass to realise that they had wanted to buy his silence. They didn’t want anyone to know that their son had been living in sin with a Halfblood werewolf. He had left, taking nothing, promising nothing, but thinking that they were lucky, as it was a secret he planned to take to his grave with or without financial incentive.

Remus surveys Sirius across the kitchen table now and sees how earnestly he means this and suggests that they go look at the house. ‘I imagine,’ he says gently, ‘that it may have fallen into some disrepair.’

‘There’s a house elf there,’ Sirius says. ‘If he hasn’t died,’ he adds, sounding rather hopeful. 

Remus has a sudden flash of them finding the mummified body of the house elf, shrivelled and horrible, somewhere inside the dark halls. He remembers the mounted heads all too well. ‘I’d imagine he must have done,’ he says, and Sirius shrugs. 

They assess the place the next morning. It is worse than Remus had imagined it could be. The portrait is a horror; there are more dark objects than Remus had remembered or known; mildew is pervasive – ‘Maybe he has died, then,’ Sirius says – and the house elf, Kreacher, appears shortly after they have arrived and follows them from room to room, muttering insults. Remus privately thinks that the place is unusable, then remembers that he and Sirius have a pact to always be honest with each other now. He sees how much Sirius wants this to work, so he decides to lie to himself instead. We can make this work, he tells himself after each fresh horror. We’ll clean it up. A door burns his hand and the house elf calls him a filthy werewolf and Sirius looks like he’s going to be sick. It will be fine. 

After they’ve surveyed most of the rooms, Sirius turns to him and says in that new gruff way he has when he wants to prevent himself from getting emotional, ‘Well, what do you think?’

And Remus says, ‘I think it’s a bloody rat trap.’ He pauses, gives it the comic beat, but not too much of one, because he knows how Sirius is now – fragile – and goes on, ‘Luckily, you and I are very much in the market for rat traps if I’m not mistaken?’

Sirius bursts into startled laughter, his bark of a laugh echoing in the house like a charming spell. Remus smiles at him. It’s worth it, for this.


	11. Grimmauld Place, during Harry's fifth year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got kinda, uhm, sappy.

Tonks fancies him? What on earth is she thinking?

Remus obsesses over this information for days. Long hours patrolling will do that for you. Eventually he realises that he’s flailing with the vertigo of the long-time coupled suddenly being treated as single. He cannot bring himself to even imagine leaving Sirius, but he’s terribly flattered by Tonks’s attention. He finds himself glancing at her to see if she approves whenever he does something. He finds that she almost always is looking back at him, a winning grin on her face. Then one night at an Order meeting, he catches Sirius watching him, eyes narrowed, and his stomach drops. 

Sirius doesn’t say anything as they’re getting ready for bed, following the old routine, standing side by side in front of the basin brushing their teeth. In good moods, they’d jostle elbows, poke each other a bit, whinge about the space in front of the sink, get in each other’s space, but Sirius doesn’t do that either. He stares blankly at the corner of the mirror while he brushes, spits, and runs the tap; then he turns, without waiting for Remus as he usually does, and walks into the bedroom. Remus winces at himself in the mirror, wonders for the thousandth time in the past week what it is that Tonks sees in his lined face and grey hair – wonders for the first time in a long time what it is that Sirius sees in it – wonders when he became half of a couple so strong that he is actually startled to think that someone might not see him as just that, a half of a whole, rather than a whole thing himself – and knows that he needs to do something about this, without delay.

In the bedroom, Sirius has crawled into bed and is sitting with his knees up under the blankets, a book resting open on them that he is staring at a little too intently. Remus goes to Sirius’s side of the bed, neatly snatches up the book and snaps it shut, flips back the covers over Sirius’s protests, and crawls in beside him, pushing and nuzzling until he gets his head onto Sirius’s chest with Sirius’s arm around his shoulders. 

‘You’re a git,’ Sirius says mildly.

‘Yes,’ Remus agrees, ‘but I’m your git.’

Sirius snorts, but his grip on Remus’s shoulder tightens. Remus continues, ‘I’ve been thinking about Tonks fancying me.’

‘Oh?’ Sirius asks. Remus can tell that he’s not looking at him. 

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘And I’ll admit right now – both to you and to myself – that it’s flattering. Really, terribly flattering.’ He twists to look up at Sirius, who he sees now is looking down at him warily. ‘Do you understand that?’

‘Yes,’ Sirius says quietly. ‘I do, I suppose.’ 

‘To think that someone really likes me,’ Remus continues, trying to make himself understood.

‘I can promise you,’ Sirius says, still quiet, ‘that no matter how much she likes you, I like you more.’

Remus smiles and turns his head into Sirius’s neck. ‘I know. And you must know, Sirius,’ he takes a deep breath and sits up, pulling away so that he can look fully at him, his best friend, the love of his life, the one who has saved him from himself more than he’ll ever know, ‘you must know that I will never, ever leave you for someone else.’

Sirius shuts his eyes just a fraction longer than a blink and then smiles brilliantly. ‘Promise, Moony?’

‘Promise,’ Remus says, and then they tangle together and fall asleep bunched up on Sirius’s side of the bed and when he wakes in the morning he has a pounding headache from the position his neck has been in all night but it doesn’t matter, not really, not when Sirius throws a glass of cold water on him while he showers in retaliation for stealing his towel. 

Over the next few days and then weeks, Remus realises that Sirius has started waging his own campaign of flattery. And even if Remus doesn’t believe a word of it when he comes back looking and smelling like a wet wolf after a miserable night of patrolling and Sirius tells him that he’s the most handsome thing he’s ever seen, he still appreciates it.


	12. Late May, Harry's Fifth Year, Grimmauld Place

'We’ll be back soon,' Remus says quietly to Sirius, looking directly at him while his hands fiddle with the buttons on his coat. Code for: 'I will be as safe as I can be,' which also means, 'I will do everything I can to come back to you.' Saying anything that acknowledges both the danger they are in and what that means for their relationship is a relatively new development, a second war development, and even though it logically is meaningless - Remus obviously has very little control over if a Death Eater kills him - Sirius appreciates it. 

'I will see you soon,' he says, also quietly, and that’s all, because Tonks is standing in the doorway watching them, but it’s also a second war development that he knows Remus knows what he means. Remus gets the last button on the coat, turns up the collar against the cold May rain (spring has not yet come), and then the door is shutting behind them and Sirius is standing alone in the hallway. He puts a hand on the door, feels the physical locks, and the magic around them, a faint glow that often wakes him in the night, certain that Voldemort can feel it too, but this is his family home and the magic in it speaks to the magic in him louder than it does to others. He turns and walks down the hallway, past the portrait, consciously doesn’t flinch, and goes downstairs into the kitchen. He’s going to sit and drink tea and do the hard business of waiting. 

Except maybe not, because sitting in the kitchen, mending a robe, is Molly Weasley. Sirius freezes.

'Sirius!' Molly says, and she breaks into a huge smile. She’s been being nice to him ever since he had her family stay over the Christmas holidays, and he thinks it’s an effort every time. 'I hope you don’t mind me being here. I promised Bill I’d meet him after he finishes work for the day and this seemed like the easiest place to, well, to meet.' 

Sirius manages to nod. 'Of course. Order headquarters is for everyone.' Annoyed, he turns to the kettle. 'Tea?'

'That would be wonderful,' Molly says. Sirius finds some teacups and struggles to think of small talk; he and Molly are almost never alone together and never for extended periods of time. He knows that they need to reach some understanding; they are both surrogate parents to Harry, and he can’t deny how much Molly has done for his godson, but the emotional effort required to make theirs a real, non-superficial relationship exhausts him. He glances back at her and sees her staring determinedly at her mending, watching her wand make the stitches with unusual intent. The exhaustion seems mutual. 

Still, when he places a full cup of tea in front of her, she looks up, and he can see that she is going to make An Effort. Her opening gambit is the worst possible choice: ‘Tonks told me that she’s going to ask Remus to dinner after they’ve done their errand.’

Sirius isn’t insecure, exactly - Remus and he have discussed this, after all, and he trusts Remus - but Sirius isn’t not insecure either. Tonks is young and vibrant and not a walking pile of thirteen years of prison horror combined with sixteen years of alternating parental abuse and neglect. No matter what Remus says, when Sirius wakes him for the thousandth time in a cold sweat sobbing from a nightmare about Dementors, Sirius knows that Remus must feel a twinge - this could be easier with someone, anyone else - and it kills him to think that Tonks might be…

‘I just think,’ Molly says, her voice a little tremulous in the quiet, and Sirius realises that he has probably been silent an uncomfortably long time while those thoughts ran through his head, ‘that they would make a nice couple.’ She shrugs in a sympathetic manner. ‘Tonks really adores him. And Remus has been through so much. I think he deserves someone to make him happy.’ 

Sirius flees the room. Remus is always telling him to just remove himself from a situation that makes him panic and for once he takes that advice. He’s halfway up the stairs before it occurs to him that this is probably not the correct course of action; it takes another three or four steps to convince himself that, given that he might need Molly to vouch for him someday in a legal situation as a suitable caretaker for Harry, he should probably stop acting like the crazy person he very much is in front of her. He stops and leans against the stone wall. He can see the portrait ahead of him, the ever present reminder that crazy runs in the family. He takes several deep breaths, clenches his fists, turns, and walks back down the stairs.

Molly is standing by the door, an undecided look on her face, which rapidly turns to stricken when he steps inside and says in a clipped voice, ‘I’m sorry about that.’ 

‘Oh,’ she says, ‘well, uhm, it’s quite…’ 

‘Remus says,’ Sirius says, and tries to explain it in a way that makes sense, ‘that I should step away from a, ah, a situation that I find difficult instead of just, ah, reacting to it.’ 

Molly opens her mouth, then nods. ‘Remus is very sensible.’ 

‘Yes,’ Sirius agrees. That is a good point of discussion to have with Molly: the sensibility of Remus. He can hit that conversational note all night long if he has to. He pauses. ‘I don’t think…’ 

But Molly has already started to speak. ‘Do you not want Tonks to be…’ 

‘No,’ Sirius says. ‘I don’t. I mean, she can feel whatever she wants, of course. But please don’t,’ he hits on the right angle, ‘don’t encourage her.’ 

Molly blinks. ‘Has Remus said something?’

‘Yes,’ Sirius concedes, which is not a lie. ‘He says it’s flattering. But…’ 

‘Not interested?’ Molly asks. ‘Or is he being a martyr?’ She makes a face. ‘He’s too hard on himself. I really do think they’d make an excellent couple.’ 

‘No.’ Sirius stops. He knows that it must seem absurd to her that he would be so vehement. 

‘Well,’ Molly says, ‘if that’s what he wants, of course, I won’t encourage her. But…’ 

Sirius becomes aware that he is, as they say, drained - bone-weary, dog-tired - of this secrecy. ‘I’ll tell you why,’ he announces, more for himself, to hold himself to it.

‘Ok,’ Molly says, reasonably, and, reasonably, she waits.

‘Remus isn’t interested in her,’ Sirius says, and his mouth goes dry, and his head starts to buzz, because honestly, when was the last time he came out to someone? The list is tiny: Remus, Lily, James and Peter, and his brother. So, what, seventeen years ago? Regulus had been hardest, the look on his face, while Sirius’s hands had been shaking and sweating underneath the table. ‘My partner,’ he’d said, to describe Remus, and Regulus hadn’t gotten it at first, but then he had. Molly doesn’t matter this much, shouldn’t matter this much - not to mention that the world has utterly moved on, that homosexuality is so much more acceptable - but there’s still that edge of fear, that what he says will be shocking, or dismaying, that it will change how she thinks of him, or that she’ll tell him it’s a mistake, a phase - and he’s taking away Remus’s agency in this, he’s giving up one of Remus’s secrets, something he’d sworn never to do again, but this is his secret too, and he wants to give it up so desperately that it feels like a thing clawing at his throat. He’s so, so tired of hiding. It comes out all in a jumble. ‘I’m in love with Remus. He’s in love with me. It’s, it’s, we’ve been together a long time. We talked about Tonks. He said it was flattering but this was more important.’ Molly is looking utterly shocked, so Sirius adds, for clarification, ‘I’m gay.’ He finds that on the last sentence he has fluttered his hands around, involuntarily, as if his body wants to emphasize it. 

‘I didn’t know,’ she says after a few seconds. ‘I had no idea. Sirius, I’m so sorry. Of course I won’t encourage her. Do you want me to talk to her?’

‘No,’ Sirius says, ‘no, it’s all right.’ His heart is thudding in his chest. Molly is watching him intently. ‘It’s, we should do it. Just, be open.’ He hesitates, and then more spills out, like he’s a goddamned leaky tap. ‘I want to tell Harry, but Remus isn’t sure. He won’t say it, but I think he thinks Harry will be disappointed. He won’t be, of course.’

‘No,’ Molly agrees. ‘Absolutely not. He loves you both.’

Sirius sighs and runs a head through his hair. ‘Molly…’ 

‘Thank you for telling me,’ she says. ‘Now, the tea is cold, why don’t I make us some more? And -’ she smiles at him, ‘if you’ll forgive me being nosy, I’d love to hear about more about you and Remus.’

Sirius frowns. ‘What about us?’ 

‘How you, well, I suppose you met because you were at Hogwarts together, but how you fell in love?’ Sirius blinks at her and she says, ‘I’m a romantic, Sirius. I like to know these stories.’ 

‘No one’s ever asked me before,’ he says, a little blank. ‘I’m not even sure where to begin…’ 

Two hours later, having gone through several cups of tea and most of a packet of biscuits, Sirius has pieced together the narrative of their lives, and found himself genuinely interested in hearing about Molly and Arthur (one early accident with birth control, they realized they loved being parents, and the ridicule was worth it in exchange for their wonderful family). The kitchen door opens and Remus enters, shaking water from his coat and rubbing his hand through his hair. He stops when he sees the two of them together and, although he smiles, Sirius knows that he’s confused. 

‘Molly! How are you?’ Remus asks.

‘Wonderful,’ she says. ‘Sirius and I are having a fun conversation.’ She smiles at Sirius conspiratorially and he catches himself grinning back.

‘I’m happy to hear it,’ Remus says, giving Sirius a look that says, you need to explain what is going on here immediately. He reaches out for Sirius’s teacup, takes a swig, and makes a face. ‘So cold.’ 

‘Did Tonks ask you out to dinner?’ Sirius asks, as innocently as possible. Remus is instantly, instantly on guard, giving Sirius a wary look.

‘Yes, but I said no thank you.’ 

‘We really have to tell her something, Sirius,’ Molly says, and Sirius nods. 

‘I’ve been talking to Molly,’ he informs Remus, and he sees Remus get it a second later. Remus sits down and takes Sirius’s hand. Molly smiles.

‘Seems like a good idea,’ Remus says. With his free hand, he rubs his eyes. ‘It’s going to be tiresome to tell everyone. Molly, can you just…’ 

Molly laughs. ‘I’m not that much of a gossip!’ 

The kitchen door opens again, and Bill Weasley strides in, saying, ‘I heard you down here…’ Remus’s hand clenches on Sirius’s, but he does not let go. Bill’s eyes go a little glassy when he notices, but he recovers almost instantly. Sirius’s heart rate slows again. 

Later, when they are getting ready for bed, Sirius asks Remus, ‘Do you care that I told her?’ 

Remus perches on the end of the bed, sock in one hand, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘I don’t think so,’ he says finally. ‘But why did you?’ 

‘She was asking me about Tonks. I don’t know. She was very nice about it. A good listener.’ 

Remus smiles. ‘I’ve told you for ages that Molly is a good person.’

‘You don’t get to turn this into an I-told-you-so, Remus.’

‘I think I just did?’ 

Sirius smacks him in the head with his own sock and Remus grabs him around the waist and tugs him onto the bed. They wrestle for a minute, and then kiss, and then Remus says, ‘God I’m tired,’ and Sirius curls a leg between Remus’s and strokes his hair while Remus’s eyes close. 

‘I was tired of hiding,’ Sirius whispers. 

‘Mm,’ Remus says, and Sirius thinks he’s fallen asleep because there is silence for nearly a full minute. He closes his eyes and then Remus says, ‘We should tell Harry.’

‘In person,’ Sirius agrees, happiness spiking through him. ‘When he comes home for the summer.’

‘And the rest of the Order,’ Remus yawns. 

‘Yes,’ Sirius agrees. ‘Yes, let’s.’

‘At the meeting tomorrow,’ Remus mumbles, and yawns again, hugely, and then he really does fall asleep. Sirius pulls the blanket up around them and curls up and closes his eyes, content.


	13. June of Harry's Fifth Year, Grimmauld Place

They are all in the dining room, every member of the Order, which is rare enough, and Profess- Albus (hard habit to break, for Sirius) looks particularly solemn. Worry is making Sirius’s stomach hurt. Under the table, he reaches for Remus’s hand, catches it in mid-air on its way to reaching for his. They settle for holding them together on Remus’s knee. 

 

‘I have a somewhat dangerous task ahead of me,’ Albus says, without preamble, once they are all seated and silent. This, too, is unusual. Albus almost never tells them what he is doing in the war effort; they all trust that he is doing whatever he can. Sirius starts to feel genuinely sick. ‘I think it is necessary that we discuss what might happen to the Order in case of my becoming incapacitated.’ 

 

Sirius glances around. Remus is rapt, eyes directly on Albus; Molly looks grim, lips pressed in a line; Arthur is looking down at his hands; Kingsley is chewing a quill; Tonks, looking at Remus; the others in various stages of quiet concern. Emmeline catches his eye and makes a little scared frown. He widens his eyes at her in agreement. Severus, beside her, is as unreadable as a coiled snake. 

 

‘I won’t mince words,’ Albus continues, and Sirius can’t help but note how well he has commanded their attention. ‘If something happens to me, it will be difficult to maintain the Order. Fighting Voldemort will be much harder, and the task of organising will be enormous. I’m asking you to talk amongst yourselves and put it to an anonymous vote.’ In the centre of the table, a stack of small pieces of parchment appear, faintly glowing. He places a tea cup beside them. ‘My best successor is in this room.’ He stands. ‘Now, I think I won’t be a part of this discussion. After all, I won’t be here to see them succeed me!’ 

 

On that cheery note, he exits the room. The silence he leaves behind is a vacuum. Sirius’s hand is clammy in Remus’s; he’s not sure which of them is sweating. Probably both. No one is looking at each other. 

 

Finally, Minerva says, ‘Well, I am going to take myself out of the running, thank you very much. My job is at Hogwarts. If Dumbledore is… I’m Deputy Headmistress, after all.’ There’s general assent, and obvious relief at the silence being broken. Several other people disavow themselves for various reasons. 

 

Then Severus speaks, which is another rarity in this meeting of odd occurrences. ‘I know who many of you are considering,’ he says quietly, ‘and I’d urge you to consider that, as appealing as his always-willing-to-please personality is, well…’ Severus trails off. Sirius has no idea who he is talking about, but Remus suddenly lets go of his hand, brings his up onto the table, and laughs. 

 

‘Severus, really,’ he says, and Sirius knows from long experience that most people will not hear the warning in his jolly voice. ‘Don’t be absurd.’ 

 

‘It’s not a bad idea,’ Arthur says. He’s looking at Remus. ‘You’re a fantastic wizard. You’re knowledgeable. Everyone likes you, everyone likes working with you. Everyone feels safe going out on patrol with you. You were in the first Order, and you have studied a lot of defensive magic -’

 

Belatedly, Sirius realises who Severus means, and almost blurts out ‘no!’. He settles for gripping the underside of the table instead.

 

Remus spreads his hands. ‘I’m also incapacitated at least one night of the month and can’t be trusted during that time period.’ 

 

‘With the wolfsbane-’ Severus says, but Remus interrupts him. 

 

‘I can’t guarantee I’ll have that.’ 

 

‘Even then, no one can get anything out of you as a werewolf,’ Arthur says. 

 

‘You would be very good,’ Emmeline says. ‘Not only does everyone like you, they respect you.’

 

‘I-’

 

The room dissolves into a babble of voices, mostly directed at Remus. Sirius, heart pounding, sees side conversations that are also looking at him, nodding in approval, agreement. He’s suddenly so nervous he thinks he might faint, but he has to be here, he has to be present, by Remus’s side. 

 

Then Severus speaks again, and everyone shuts up. ‘Yes, yes,’ he says, to the room at large, but his eyes are focused on Remus’s. ‘He’d be wonderful, I’m sure, despite his... shortcoming.’ Remus’s hand hits Sirius’s knee before he can be up and snarling so he settles for clenched fists. ‘But,’ Severus says, and his voice takes on that silky tone it gets before he’s about to strike, ‘please take into consideration who he’s closest to.’ 

 

‘Severus,’ Remus says, and now there’s nothing in his tone but warning. 

 

Severus gives a little shrug. ‘This is a question of leadership, right? Of character fit to take on the task and judgment equal to executing it?’ He cocks his head. ‘And I find myself questioning the judgment of a man who is in an intimate relationship with someone who is undeniably mentally unstable.’ 

 

There’s buzzing in Sirius’s ears, or maybe that’s everyone suddenly talking; he sees Molly grab for Tonks’ arm and Tonks’ face go completely white. He’s not particularly hurt, or even surprised. Severus is just voicing what must be obvious to every person in the Order: he’s damaged goods. It’s not until Remus speaks, in a clipped, soft, obviously-to-him furious tone, that he realises that Severus has just outed them. 

 

‘You can question my judgment all you want, Severus, but I stand by Sirius no matter what.’

 

‘And I am questioning your judgment, over that very statement. He’s not-’

 

‘Severus,’ Remus says, and suddenly the room is silent, because everyone else has realised how furious he is too, ‘you have no right, absolutely none, to suggest that it is a lapse in my judgment to confide in Sirius.’ 

 

‘But-’ 

 

‘No.’ Remus leans forward, his entire body a tense line of energy. ‘Arthur is right. I was here for the last war. And I have learned from at least some of my multitude of mistakes. I will never keep a secret from Sirius, ever again.’ 

 

Severus takes a deep breath, clearly ready to speak again, but Remus leans closer and says, ‘And you have zero qualifications to judge his mental health.’ 

 

‘They say,’ Severus says, eyes glittering, ‘that most people go insane within weeks in Azkaban.’ 

 

‘Only the guilty,’ Remus snarls, and even Severus leans back from his fury. ‘Sirius was there for twelve years,’ He looks up at the room, eyes moving between all of them. ‘None of you, absolutely none of you, have sacrificed what he has for this Order. Severus discounts love, he derides it as a weakness, but Sirius is here today because he loves his godson, because he loved James,’ Remus’s gaze is now back on Severus, ‘and Lily. And I love him, and I will never keep a secret from him again, and if that is a problem for any of you, don’t vote for me. I wasn’t asking for your votes in the first place.’ 

 

Severus darts forward, as if to speak again, but Remus cuts him off. ‘You have been jealous of us since school, Severus. I suppose it’s difficult to see a mutually reciprocal relationship.’ 

 

‘If we’re resorting to personal insults,’ Severus announces, shoving his chair back and standing, ‘You, Remus, are a simplistic fool whose depth of understanding of human relationships can be summed up in a pop song.’ 

 

‘Witty comeback,’ Sirius snaps. ‘Really top notch.’ 

 

‘No one was talking to you, Black,’ Severus says, and sweeps out of the room. 

 

Sirius looks at Remus, who is looking back at the door Severus has just gone through. He says, quietly, to no one in particular, ‘Fuck,’ pushes back from the table, stands, and follows Severus. 

 

‘That man,’ Molly says after a moment, ‘is a saint.’ 

 

‘Honestly, everything that just happened is a good indicator that he would make an excellent leader.’ 

 

‘Whoever it is, is going to have to deal with Severus…’ 

 

‘And he just handled him better than I could have!’ 

 

‘Exactly!’

 

‘Sirius,’ Tonks says, voice deathly quiet but still cutting through the chatter. ‘What do you think?’

 

Sirius knows exactly what he thinks. He loathes the very idea. He hates every single second of even considering it. He wants Remus as far away from death and destruction and crushing responsibility as he can be. But of course they’re right; of them, Remus is suddenly, glaringly, the obvious choice. He has the temperament, he has the experience, he has the intelligence and the skill… not to replace Albus, no one could, it’s absurd to suggest it, but to take these people and hold them together… Sirius knows that Remus has a personal relationship with every person in that room, that he’s spoken with each of them and knows about their families and understands their skills and weaknesses. This is what Remus does, he deflects attention from himself and absorbs information about other people, assessing the level of trust he can place in them. It was monumental for him to let Albus tell them all about his lycanthropy, and it is not at all lost on Sirius how out of character it was for Remus to defend their relationship in front of the room just now. 

 

He stands up, finds that his hands are shaking. ‘Of course,’ he says, and his voice is shaking too,  _ fuck _ , ‘of course I would choose him, objectively. But I’m not objective, am I?’ 

 

‘Sirius,’ Molly says, and her eyes are asking him something kind. Maybe she’s asking him if he’s ok. He shakes his head at her, shakes her off. 

 

‘I’m not going to vote for him. Make no mistake, he’s the right one for the job. But I won’t be complicit in a vote that is,’ and his voice breaks, and he hates himself for it, but he soldiers on, ‘that is essentially a death sentence. Because this will kill him, and every one of you voting for him knows that.’ He sees Molly’s face, shocked, upset, and sees that tears are streaming silently down Tonks’ cheeks.  _ Good _ , he thinks savagely,  _ let them see what they’ve done _ , and flees the room before he breaks down himself. 

 

He practically runs down two flights of stairs, not sure where he’s going, or what he’s doing, except getting  _ away  _ from the meeting. He slams through two sets of doors and into a small chamber that leads to the stairwell that goes to the front door and nearly collides with Albus, who is sitting with one knee over the other on a velvet Louis XIV style chair that Sirius thinks an ancestor looted from Versailles. It matches Albus’s olive green robes. Albus holds up a finger to his lips:  _ ssssh _ . 

 

‘I had no idea you were going to nominate me, Severus.’

 

‘You’re welcome for that, Remus,’ he hears Severus say, only slightly muffled through the door, angry, and something else, something deeper. ‘Charming as always.’ 

 

‘Severus, I am sorry that I lost my temper,’ Remus says. ‘Truly. But you did have, well, rather a lot to say about my private business.’ 

 

They must be standing on the stairs; Remus must have caught Severus on his way out the door. Sirius glances at Albus, who looks deliberately off to the side. 

 

‘You’ll have to deal with worse from him.’

 

He can’t hear Remus sigh, but he knows that pause, and he can imagine it. ‘Severus, just because our enemies are terrible doesn’t mean our allies have to be as well.’

 

‘I don’t trust Black.’

 

‘What about him don’t you trust? What could he possibly do to prove to you-’

 

‘Oh, I know that he’s dedicated to the cause. But he has a sense of entitlement a mile long and a nasty temper-’

 

Sirius catches himself digging his fingernails into his palms and consciously retracts them. Albus taps his fingers together, a tiny smile on his face. Sirius wonders for the hundredth time if this is all somehow a game to him. 

 

‘Spare me the schoolboy drama, Severus,’ Remus says, sounding deeply weary. ‘Albus asked you two to work together.’

 

‘I don’t trust Black’s judgment. And I don’t trust yours if you insist upon trusting him.’ 

 

‘Why?’

 

Severus makes a frustrated noise. ‘Whether or not you’ll admit it, he’s clearly not well. You can deny it all you like, but he did not come out of Azkaban right in the head.’

 

There’s a moment of silence. Sirius is practically bent in half, ear at the keyhole. The buzzing is back in his ears. Then, Remus says, ‘How could he, Severus? You know what that place is like. You know what Dementors do. Sirius didn’t come back whole but that doesn’t mean I don’t trust him.’ 

 

Sirius pulls away; he’s heard enough. Albus is looking at him. He can feel the force of that gaze. He wants to run upstairs and put his head under a pillow and die. Even Remus thinks he’s broken. 

 

‘Sirius,’ Albus says. Sirius looks at him, a little wild, and he can see Albus reject whatever he was about to say and say instead, ‘I think you make an excellent couple.’ Sirius blinks once - did he just get his headmaster’s blessing? - and then Albus stands and says, ‘Do you think they’re done voting?’

 

‘I - thank you, sir. I don’t know. It seemed like things were winding down.’

 

Albus nods. ‘And what do you think?’

 

‘I’m scared,’ Sirius admits. ‘For Remus.’

 

Albus cocks his head to one side. ‘Yes, I thought you would be. As any reasonable man would be.’

 

‘But I understand,’ Sirius adds, silently thanking Albus for that ‘reasonable’. ‘For Harry.’

 

The door opens and Remus almost hits them both with it. He looks at them, cheek twitching, and asks, ‘How much did you hear?’ 

 

‘Quite a lot,’ Sirius admits. 

 

‘And did you hear the end?’ Remus demands. ‘When I told him that if his objection is to people damaged by the war then I think that he and I had better go toss our wands in the Thames, along with most of the people in that meeting today?’

 

Sirius shakes his head. Remus, apparently unphased by Albus’s presence, takes Sirius’s arm and squeezes it. ‘Sirius, I need you.’ 

 

Albus says, ‘I’m just going to see if they’ve tallied the votes,’ and slips away; Sirius moves immediately into Remus’s arms, holding him as tightly as he can, trying to keep his emotions to a minimum. 

 

‘Did you know this would happen?’ 

 

‘No,’ Remus breathes, hot in his ear. ‘Truly. I had no idea.’ 

 

‘Remus…’

 

‘It’s almost certainly meaningless,’ Remus says, and Sirius can’t tell who he’s trying to reassure. ‘Albus will be fine. Nothing could harm him.’

 

‘Sna- Severus likes you, it turns out,’ Sirius offers. ‘So that’s, uh, in the plus column?’

 

Remus leans back, shaking his head. ‘I’m just delighted.’ 

 

‘People trust you, Remus,’ Sirius adds. ‘With something huge.’ 

 

‘They’re fools.’

 

Sirius puts his hand on Remus’s chin and makes him look at him. ‘They’re not.’ 

 

Remus makes a little face. ‘Sirius, I need you. If something… I could never do this without you. I could never even think of doing it.’ 

 

‘I heard I’m a bit of a liability.’ It doesn’t come off as lightly as he’d hoped. ‘You once told me that those who love us see us as our best selves.’ 

 

‘I learned that from you,’ Remus says. ‘And I don’t think acknowledging mental health issues brought on by horrendous, unspeakable circumstances - things I genuinely have a hard time even imagining because I find it so painful - is not seeing you as your best self. You’re a fighter, Sirius. You’re here. You could very easily have retired to the countryside and left all this behind.’

 

‘I couldn’t have. You know that. I’d go - I’d be even crazier. You’re here. Harry’s here. That’s why I’m here.’

 

‘And that is your best self,’ Remus says quietly. ‘You don’t need me to see it, because you are it.’ 

  
  



	14. Remus and Dumbledore, A Series of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This skips around quite a bit in time. Hopefully it is not difficult to follow!

Remus doesn’t remember the moment he was bitten, but he does remember being in hospital afterwards, the healer telling his mother quietly that it would be better to let him die than to let him live like he was now. 

 

His mother had slapped the man in the face and told him to never come near her son ever again. 

 

Remus recognises later that they both acted out of compassion; he isn’t certain who was right, but he’s so, so grateful that his mother didn’t listen. 

 

His parents do try to find a cure, for years, until he is six or seven. Then he remembers hIs mother, holding him while he tries not to sob in pain on her lap as his father drives, leaving the latest ‘miracle cure’ healer who they’d paid god knows what in the hope of curing him. She says, ‘This is it, Lyall.’ 

 

His father, staring hard at the road, says, ‘Hope-’

 

‘This is our son,’ she says, more gentle than steely. ‘Let’s love him as he is.’ 

 

They had. Remus knows his parents were amazing, transforming their lives to accommodate this unwanted condition. His mother, a Muggle who turned completely against the Wizarding World when she saw the prejudice they had in store for her son, had always made certain to remind him that there are no children who are perfect, no children who are exactly what their parents ask for. She enrolls him in the Muggle school in the remote village they move to and she and his father both tutor him when he is too ill to attend. 

 

But Remus is undeniably magical, no matter how much Muggle schooling he receives, and Lyall is terrified of what that means. A magical child who is not properly taught is a dangerous thing. It is why Hogwarts has agents all over Britain who seek out magical children, no matter their background, and why the Purebloods have been forced to allow Muggleborn children to attend Hogwarts for so many centuries. 

 

Lyall is in a bind; his son is undeniably meant to be a wizard, but there has never been a werewolf who has gone to Hogwarts. He does some research and learns that children who are bitten almost never live to adulthood. Although there is very limited data, he surmises that most of them die within a year of being bitten, almost always through self-inflicted wounds that are left untreated. He has seen the terrible things that Remus can do to himself, but they’ve built him a special room that keeps him safe, for the most part, and he seems to heal quickly. When he has a serious injury, Lyall has taught himself to deal with it, knowing that St Mungo’s is useless on this count. They’d rather quarantine him than treat him. Hope often chips in, with Muggle potion called ibuprofen and bandages. Within a few days of each full moon, Remus is back to being a happy, clever, inquisitive boy. All the while, growing, approaching his eleventh birthday. 

 

***

 

One day, the morning after a full moon, Remus is sitting propped in an armchair with a blanket over his legs, watching Muggle TV with his mum, when his dad comes in the room and says, ‘Remus, I want you to meet someone.’ 

 

Remus’s first impression of Albus - Professor Dumbledore, as he would be calling him for the next many years - is that he is very tall. He has to stoop to walk into their living room. Remus has not been exposed to many wizarding folk but he can tell something is different about this man.

 

‘Remus, my name is Professor Dumbledore,’ the man says, and his voice is kind. Remus senses that his mum is upset with his dad; she’s giving him a Look. He surmises that it is because of the presence of this man, and his natural inclination is to side with her, but he’s intrigued too.

 

‘Hello, Professor,’ he says politely. 

 

‘Your father asked me to come and speak with you.’ Dumbledore sits down in another armchair and they have a conversation about magic, the first proper one that Remus has ever had. He finds himself telling the professor everything he has already discovered he can do. Dumbledore asks all the right questions, kind and encouraging, and Remus even forgets that he feels terrible as he describes some of the magical creatures he has seen walking around the hills here. He is particularly keen on magical creatures. 

 

Dumbledore lets him talk himself out, and then says to his father, ‘You’re right, of course.’ They proceed to have a cryptic conversation, while Hope hovers at the edge, looking miserable but asking sharp questions. Later, Remus understands that this conversation is fundamentally about his own magical abilities, and that Dumbledore is inviting him to go to Hogwarts, and discussing options about how to conceal his lycanthropy. He also comes to understand that, without the very progressive Dumbledore being headmaster, this never would have happened. He does not like to dwell on what his fate might have been then. 

 

At school, Remus’s favorite professor is McGonagall; he enjoys her teaching style and finds the subject matter fascinating (and, of course, secretly quite useful). When it comes time to choose future careers, it is she who plants the seed of academia in his mind. When he needs letters of introduction to apply to university for further study, however, both she and Dumbledore write them, and Remus realises that Dumbledore has been watching him very closely indeed. 

 

***

 

He has one serious encounter with Dumbledore late in his seventh year that he takes deeply to heart. It is soon after he and Sirius have started to figure out this  _ thing _ that is between them, and it still feels fragile and urgent. One afternoon, he and Lily leave a meeting with the other Gryffindor prefects and walk together to the Great Hall, where he knows the rest of the Marauders will be, ostensibly revising - in fact, with N.E.W.T.s so close, they might even be doing it. His mind flies ahead, anticipating seeing Sirius, still shocked and thrilled and, honestly, horrified by the entire thing. They walk through the door of the Hall into an atmosphere charged with tension; a second later, he sees James, Sirius, and Severus, in tableau as if painted by a Dutch master, James holding back Sirius’s wand arm, Sirius leaning forward, snarling, and Severus smirking, doubtless knowing that if Sirius fires a single spell at him it is an expellable offence. Without hesitation - Lily, who does hesitate, is a step behind him - he runs into the middle of the fray.

 

‘Severus,  _ you are a prefect _ .’ 

 

James manages to drag Sirius back as Severus starts to protest. He says something about Sirius; later Remus isn’t even entirely certain what it is, but he knows it is something terrible because his mind fills up with a kind of humming noise, and he says something back - the Hall is completely silent, everyone waiting for the entertainment - and whatever he says, there are gasps, and then Professor McGonagall is demanding that he come with her. He winds up in Professor Dumbledore’s office, cursing himself. 

 

Remus expects Dumbledore to exude disappointment, but he doesn’t. Instead, he seems weary. ‘Mr Lupin, I haven’t much time to deal with this right now. We both know that you lost your temper with Mr Snape, and I think we both can surmise that it was at least somewhat provoked.’ 

 

Remus blinks. ‘Yes, sir, but that’s no excuse, and I’m sorry, sir-’ 

 

Dumbledore waves a hand. ‘We all get angry, Remus.’ 

 

‘Yes, sir,’ Remus agrees, cautious. Is he not in trouble? 

 

‘Listen, Remus,’ Dumbledore says, leaning forward, elbows resting on his desk, hands steepled in front of his face. ‘You know about the war.’ 

 

Remus is startled, but he nods. 

 

‘It may seem easy to have enemies here at Hogwarts - like it’s just a game - but you boys are nearly out of time here, and then, I’m afraid, you may learn that childhood enemies have become something much more serious.’ 

 

Remus hesitates. ‘Do you mean that Severus…’ 

 

‘I am not saying anything about any individuals,’ Dumbledore says, waving a hand. ‘What I am doing is warning you to think twice before you lose your temper.’ 

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Remus says, hanging his head, and he means it. He is not a generally angry person but he also knows that, as a werewolf, he must control what little temper he has or he will be judged for it. What people see as righteous anger in a normal person is out of control and scary in him. 

 

‘Learn from your mistake,’ Dumbledore says. ‘Remus, the things that are happening beyond Hogwarts are completely out of my control.’ He pauses and smiles. ‘Not to say that the things happening inside these walls are in any way under my control but at least,’ and here the smile disappears, ‘I know that agents of Voldemort are not here.’ 

 

It is the first time Remus has ever heard anyone use the dark wizard’s name aloud; it quietly thrills him. Here is someone not showing deference to this monster who hates Muggles like his mother. ‘But some of the students,’ he ventures, emboldened, ‘seem like they are going to join his-’ he swallows, ‘-Voldemort’s side. Once they leave here, I mean.’ 

 

Dumbledore gives him a long look that feels like an appraisal. ‘So long as they are students here, we must support them and consider them one of us.’ He spreads his hands wide on the desk. ‘After that, their choices are not ours to make, Remus.’ 

 

Remus leaves the meeting in a sober mood; not even Sirius’s presence cheers him. They  _ have _ made enemies, especially with Severus, who, for all his obnoxious Severus-ness, is a very clever wizard. Remus tells the rest of the Marauders later about the conversation, and it is a sign of the truly dire state of the times that they take it seriously.

 

***

 

Two weeks after leaving Hogwarts, Remus is at his parents’ house, in the garden, helping his mother clean up some weeds. He is in that liminal state between youth and adulthood, waiting for his N.E.W.T.s results and then to see if they, combined with the letters from his professors, will be good enough to gain entrance to university in the autumn. He has chosen not to disclose his condition, so he thinks - hopes - he has a good chance. Right now, though, he is thinking, of course, about Sirius, when his father and Dumbledore appear at the garden gate, deep in conversation. 

 

Remus experiences that strange feeling of seeing something out of place; he is not used to seeing Dumbledore anywhere but at Hogwarts and it is particularly disconcerting to see him in his parents’ back garden. It has been nearly eight years since Dumbledore was last here. Remus stands, wiping his hands on his filthy trousers, and is startled when Dumbledore shakes his hand. Lyall looks incredibly serious. 

 

‘Remus, might I have a word with you?’ Dumbledore asks. 

 

‘Of course, Headmaster. Let’s…’ Remus glances at his mother, who is looking between them with intense suspicion on her face. ‘Let’s go into the sitting room.’ 

 

Once inside, Dumbledore waves off any offers of refreshment or even a chair. ‘I have very little time,’ he says, ‘and I imagine your mother would like to know what we are speaking of as soon as possible. Let me be brief: I am forming a group of people to fight against Voldemort. I would like you to be in it.’ 

 

Whatever Remus was expecting from today, this is emphatically not it. He looks towards the door, knows his dad is outside with his mum, probably telling her about this. ‘Is my dad joining?’ he asks, a little blank. 

 

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore says. ‘But it is you I am interested in right now. I think that your expertise in the matter of lycanthropy will make you particularly valuable to the cause.’ 

 

Remus swallows. ‘What would… would this replace my other plans? Is this a full time thing?’ 

 

‘No,’ Dumbledore says, ‘not right now. In fact, you are hoping to go to university to study dark creatures, right?’ Remus nods. ‘I think that will be extremely complementary to your work for my Order.’ 

 

‘Order, sir?’ 

 

‘I am thinking of calling it the Order of the Phoenix. A collection of like-minded people, with the single purpose of fighting against Voldemort.’ 

 

Remus hesitates; this is incredibly surreal. Why him? ‘But sir, what about the Ministry?’ He thinks of Sirius, who has applied to enter Auror training, who he is quietly terrified for, because the Aurors are the front line in this war, at least to his mind now. ‘The Aurors? They were… I mean, I know you were the main person involved, but didn’t they at least contribute to the war against Grindelwald?’ 

 

Dumbledore gives him an unreadable but piercing look. ‘Voldemort is an entirely different creature,’ he says. ‘Voldemort operates in the shadows, at least right now. The Ministry has to play politics, and some of Voldemort’s supporters are high up in it.’

 

‘Because he’s preaching to the anti-Muggle choir,’ Remus says bitterly. He thinks of the Blacks. ‘Who happen to be high society.’

 

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore agrees. ‘Certainly we will help the Ministry if they seem willing to fight him head on, but we won’t be hindered by their considerations of what is politic.’ 

 

Remus takes a deep breath. ‘Sir, are you asking anyone else I know?’ Hearing how it sounds, he quickly adds, ‘Just because, you know, I speak with Sirius and James and Peter quite often…’ 

 

‘I’d like to hear your answer first,’ Dumbledore says. 

 

‘If you’re certain you want me… I mean with my...’ 

 

‘I do.’ 

 

Remus shrugs, a little helplessly. By allowing him to come to Hogwarts, Dumbledore has given him everything; the least he can do is this. ‘Then of course.’ 

 

Dumbledore nods and starts to move towards the door. ‘Thank you. I’ll owl you with details of our first meeting.’ He exits, leaving Remus mentally winded. It takes him a minute to realise he cannot tell Sirius; Dumbledore has left without saying if the others are receiving similar invitations. 

 

***

 

All those years of the first war, Remus does whatever Dumbledore asks of him. He speaks with other dark creatures, no matter the circumstances; he does not tell anyone, not even Sirius, what he is doing; he works as many hours as he has to and studies as hard as he can at university and, long past the point when it seems hope is rational or reasonable, he wills himself to believe that, with Dumbledore’s guidance, if he tries as hard as he possibly can, this will all be fine.

 

And then suddenly, abruptly, the war is over, and the wizarding world is rejoicing, but Remus’s world has ended. His best friends are dead; his lover is in Azkaban; and he fluctuates between an empty vessel and a ball of crushing emotional pain greater than any his body has ever felt. For the first time in his life, he prays as the transformation overtakes him that he will not wake in the morning. 

 

Of course he does.

 

***

 

Dumbledore offers Remus the job of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor roughly three minutes after he returns to the UK for the first time in twelve years. 

 

‘You should know there is a curse on the position,’ he cautions Remus, while Remus stands in front of his boarded-up childhood home, staring intently at a small photograph of Harry that Dumbledore has handed him. 

 

‘A curse?’ he asks faintly. Harry looks achingly similar to James. 

 

‘You will only be able to have the position for a year.’ 

 

‘You can’t remove the curse?’ 

 

Dumbledore shakes his head. ‘I’ve tried,’ he says, ‘many times. Unfortunately Voldemort…’ 

 

Remus starts. ‘There’s a name I haven’t heard in years,’ he says. The war feels so distant, but here is this house, this valley, as if he could step to the door, push it open, and there they would all be, all the dead, his parents and James and Peter and Lily, and the missing, Sirius, all of them together…

 

‘Remus,’ Dumbledore says, and Remus struggles to pay attention to him. ‘Will you do this for me?’ 

 

‘Of course,’ Remus says, because Dumbledore is the one who gave him the key to this world and somehow, still, Remus does not regret that he did. And because it is not exactly for Dumbledore that he is doing this. 

 

***

 

Remus and Sirius are sitting facing each other on a low couch in the library of Grimmauld Place. Remus has one leg out on the floor and the other drawn up under himself, while Sirius is cross-legged. They are holding hands, and have, periodically, been resting their foreheads together. 

 

‘Why not Mad Eye?’ Remus asks for what feels like the hundredth time. 

 

‘Mad Eye is old,’ Sirius says, patiently, and Remus thinks that if Sirius is the one being patient then the situation is truly terrible. ‘And you know that he didn’t come out of everything that happened with Barty Crouch all that well. Honestly, I think he’d turn it down.’ 

 

‘I know, I know,’ Remus says. ‘But I can’t imagine a world without Albus. How am I supposed to plan for one?’ 

 

‘You can do this,’ Sirius says, and Remus squeezes his hands and says, ‘We can do this.’ 

 

‘We can do this,’ Sirius affirms, squeezing back, and then there’s a knock at the door and Albus lets himself in to the study.

 

‘Remus,’ he says, as ever without any semblance of preamble, ‘you’ve been chosen to be my successor, should something happen to me.’

 

Remus feels like he’s been thrown into an icy bath. Sirius’s hands squeeze his harder, and he is certain that the fear in his eyes is mirrored in his own. ‘Albus…’

 

‘I must leave,’ Albus says, ‘but I assure you that soon we will sit down and discuss this. Should anything happen to me in the interim, instructions will be sent to you via Fawkes.’ 

 

Now Remus feels like that icy bath is the North Atlantic, and he’s on the Titanic, and the deck is listing wildly, pulling gravity out from under him. ‘Are you going to be doing something particularly dangerous?’ 

 

‘I’m not sure,’ Albus says, cheerful as ever. ‘But the clock is ticking, and I must be away.’ He steps forward and puts one hand on Remus’s shoulder; he holds out the other. Remus lets go of Sirius’s hand and takes Albus’s, just for a second, and then Albus leaves. 

 

When Remus sees him again, Albus wears a cracked ring, and the hand Remus shook is shrivelled and black. 


	15. Lying Low at Lupin's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after the Triwizard Tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sex in this one. Sorry not sorry?

Sirius approaches the cottage on silent paws, nose attuned to the smells of flowers opening and animals awakening and others going to sleep. This is the early morning bouquet, a transition place in the structure of time, and his nose knows it well. He can smell the moss on the stones and the overgrown plants in the front garden and then, there it is, home. He smells Remus open the door before he sees him, and he ducks into the shadows under a hedge and approaches in semi-darkness until he has to bound the last few feet through the gate. He knows it is safe to transfigure but he hesitates; emerging into human form is sometimes a journey into unblunted despair and he is reluctant to do it. Then Remus crouches down and reaches for him and he knows that he must. 

 

Remus watches him with a wary look on his face as he twists and turns into a human on the floor of the kitchen. It doesn’t hurt - it never does, unless he’s incurred some serious injury as a dog - but it does itch. He’s halfway to raising a back paw to scratch his cheek when he remembers he no longer has back paws. 

 

‘What happened?’ Remus demands. ‘Is Harry all right?’ 

 

‘Harry’s all right,’ Sirius says, as the full force of his exhaustion hits him. He has made it to where he needs to for now, but there is so much more to be done. ‘He’s all right.’ 

 

Remus runs a hand over his face and breathes out sharply. ‘Did something happen? What happened? Something happened.’ 

 

Sirius nods. ‘Something happened.’ He stops, unsure where to start. ‘He saw James and Lily.’ 

 

Remus blinks at him. ‘What?’

 

‘I-’ Sirius waves his hand. ‘I’m trying to think how to tell you.’

 

‘Start at the beginning.’ 

 

‘But there’s two - well, maybe three - god, I don’t know, four major points here.’

 

‘How could he have seen James and Lily?’

 

‘Their,’ Sirius swallows, ‘their spirits.’ 

 

Remus is silent, eyes on the floor. Then he looks up at Sirius and demands, ‘How?’

 

‘Moony, so much happened.’ Sirius gives him a helpless look. ‘Voldemort’s back.’ 

 

Remus shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. After a second: ‘Are you certain?’

 

Sirius nods. ‘Harry saw him. James and Lily, they - they protected him.’ 

 

‘Harry saw him?’

 

‘The Triwizard Cup was a portkey. It transported Harry to him.’

 

‘Who could have made it a portkey? Was it Karkaroff?’ 

 

Sirius shakes his head. ‘Mad Eye wasn’t… it wasn’t him. It was a Death Eater, using Polyjuice Potion.’

 

‘Where’s the real Mad Eye?’

 

‘On his way to St Mungo’s, I’d imagine. He’s going to be all right as well.’

 

‘Which Death Eater?’ Remus demands. ‘One we know?’ 

 

‘Barty Crouch Jr.’

 

‘One of the ones who attacked Frank and Alice?’

 

Sirius nods. 

 

‘Wasn’t he in Azkaban?’

 

‘Briefly. Turns out he faked his death. Seems maybe it wasn’t that hard to escape, if you have a powerful father who wants to get you out.’ 

 

‘But Harry is back? At Hogwarts? With Albus?’ 

 

Sirius nods again. There’s a short silence, then Remus says, briskly, ‘Well, we always knew Voldemort would come back. How did he do it?’

 

‘I don’t fully understand the magic behind it. I’m not sure anyone but him does. But… Peter helped.’

 

Remus hisses. ‘Of course he fucking did.’

 

‘There’s more,’ Sirius warns. 

 

‘What?’ Remus asks, suddenly tense, as if expecting a physical blow.

 

‘He killed a student.’ Sirius reaches for Remus then, because he knows that Remus taught there, and will remember the boy. 

 

‘Who?’ Remus whispers.

 

‘Cedric Diggory.’ 

 

‘Cedric,’ Remus repeats. Sirius steps close and holds him while he huffs shuddering breaths onto Sirius’s shoulder. His hands are fists, clutching at Sirius’s shirt, as he says, ‘He was...’

 

‘I heard,’ Sirius whispers, putting his face into Remus’s hair and trying to will things to be better, and so so grateful that Harry is all right. 

 

‘What else?’ Remus asks eventually. ‘What are the other things you need to tell me?’

 

‘Dumbledore wants us to write to the old members of the Order. Tell them what’s happened and that Voldemort is back. Ask them to join up again.’

 

‘I assume our joining up was taken for granted.’ Remus sounds bitter.

 

‘Should it not be?’ Sirius asks, and Remus shakes his head against Sirius’s neck. 

 

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to lose you again.’

 

‘I know,’ Sirius says grimly. ‘Me either. But Harry…’

 

‘Harry,’ Remus agrees. 

 

They go into the kitchen; sun is streaming through the windows now. Remus makes tea and they talk together about drafting a letter. It is difficult. There is a tremendous amount to explain, and it is unclear how to work Sirius’s innocence into it. It helps that Peter is partly responsible for Voldemort’s return, and that the story doesn’t make sense without him. Then they start thinking of who to write. The surviving members of the Order are a depressingly small group. Sirius writes to Moody, asks him if he knows of any Aurors who might be interested. Remus writes to some academics he knows to ask the same. 

 

Hours later, they are still sitting at the table, writing the final letters.

 

‘Whatever happened to Emmy?’ Sirius asks. He had once known Emmeline Vance well; she had dated Peter from the end of their seventh year until about a year before James and Lily’s deaths. She was a talented Ravenclaw, and a sweet woman, and Sirius had always been fond of her. 

 

Remus makes a face. ‘She’s fine, as far as I know.’

 

‘What’s the face? You two used to get on like a house on fire. We should write to her.’ 

 

‘You should write to her.’

 

‘Why not us?’

 

Remus puts down his pen and stretches. ‘We had a… bad encounter the last time I saw her.’

 

‘What happened?’

 

Remus looks uncomfortable. ‘Sort of a long story. She was very angry with me.’

 

Sirius raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

 

‘At Peter’s “funeral”. She said I should have known about you, about you being the spy.’ Remus looks down at the table. ‘She slapped me in the face.’ 

 

Sirius wants to say something sharp about Peter, but then he realises how that must have felt for Remus: three friends dead, betrayed by Sirius, while the rest of the Wizarding World rejoiced.

 

‘I assume the emotions have died down but… we haven’t spoken since then.’

 

‘I’m really sorry, Remus.’

 

Remus shrugs. ‘It is what it is. It happened a long time ago.’ 

 

‘Still.’

 

‘I know. But if I repeat those phrases often enough, maybe they’ll become meaningful.’

 

Sirius takes the pen and writes to her:

 

‘Emmy, I’d like to talk to you in person. Voldemort is back. I have some news about Peter that I think you need to hear. I’m innocent. Please write to Dumbledore if you would like him to verify that. I am at Remus’s cottage (used to be his parents’, if you remember it). Let me know if you would like to speak. - Sirius.’ 

 

He ties the letter to Remus’s owl. ‘Last one, friend,’ he says quietly; the poor bird has been flying all over this morning. Then he sends him on his way and collapses back into a chair, exhausted. ‘It’s odd we haven’t gotten any responses,’ he says. ‘But I think people are probably writing to Dumbledore to verify that I’m not lying.’

 

‘Yes,’ Remus agrees. ‘And trying to process what this means.’ He yawns for what seems like the hundredth time and then pushes back from the table and stands. ‘I have to go to work.’ 

 

‘What?’ Sirius asks, startled. ‘You haven’t gotten any sleep.’

 

‘Doesn’t mean I can just skip out on my obligations,’ Remus says lightly. He pulls on his robes and says, ‘You take a nap. I’m sure we’ll start hearing from people soon.’ 

 

***

 

Remus returns at some unspecified hour. Sirius, who has managed to strip off his clothing and collapse into Remus’s bed, hears him come in through a haze of exhaustion. He mumbles, ‘Should we be doing something, like, uhm, security wise here?’

 

‘Making sure I’m me?’ Remus asks. He is stripping off his clothes and dropping them on the bedroom floor. ‘Sure, ask me something.’ 

 

Sirius can’t think of anything good. ‘Uhm…’ 

 

‘One time we spent the night in a girls’ toilet trying to avoid Filch,’ Remus suggests. ‘One time you accidentally crashed your motorcycle into a post box because you thought a squirrel ran in front of it. One time -’ 

 

‘Ok, you’re you,’ Sirius mumbles.

 

‘Are you you though.’ Remus mutters, dropping his white vest on the floor and crawling into the bed in just his pants. 

 

Sirius reaches for him, pulls him into the nest of blankets and pillows he’s made, and wraps himself around him every way he can. ‘Oh Remus,’ he murmurs. 

 

‘I’ll just set an alarm charm,’ Remus says softly, kissing Sirius’s neck. ‘Just for an hour, that’s all I need. Then we’ll see where we’re at.’ 

 

Sirius nods against him and falls back to sleep. What feels like a moment later, Remus’s hideous charm is clanging across the room. Remus is a solid lump against him, completely asleep, because of course Remus has always been able to sleep through an alarm. Disorientated, Sirius tries to find a wand on the bedside table and silence it; eventually he manages to grab Remus’s stop the clanging.

 

‘Was that the alarm?’ Remus slurs as Sirius puts a hand to his chest and tries to slow his pounding heart.

 

‘Moony…’

 

Remus opens his eyes with what appears to be immense struggle. ‘Mmh?’

 

‘Never change,’ Sirius says, fond but a little bit admonitory. 

 

Remus puts a hand up to Sirius’s face and says, ‘Sorry.’ Sirius nuzzles into his hand and then snuggles back down against him, aware that they have something much more important they are supposed to be doing, but god, this is nice, and Remus’s skin is so hot against his, and he feels desire flood through his body. Suddenly he’s hard and shoving against Remus’s leg, needy for him. Remus opens his eyes more fully and kisses Sirius, lazy and sloppy, but getting more awake, one hand trailing down Sirius’s body, grabbing his ass and pulling him down, to grind against his own erection, which Sirius can feel through the thin cloth of his briefs. 

 

An enormous barn owl flaps through the window. Before Sirius has even registered what is happening, Remus has his wand and is ready to hex it. 

 

‘Just an owl, Moony,’ Sirius says, scrambling to catch the letter it is proffering; it hovers over them, flapping violently, until he gets it off its leg, and then it flies back out the window and disappears. 

 

‘Fuck,’ Remus says. He collapses backwards onto the bed. ‘That rather killed the mood.’ 

 

‘Yeah…’ Sirius is opening the letter; it is from Moody.

 

‘In St Mungo’s, but I’ve sent some letters to people. Got to be careful. Head of Auror Office now would absolutely not be up for any kind of extra-governmental activity. Hope you hear back. Never wanted to believe you could have done it, and I’m sorry for what happened. - Moody.’

 

Sirius passes it to Remus, who reads it silently, mouthing the words. 

 

‘Who’s the head of the Auror Office?’ Sirius asks when he’s done.

 

‘Scrimgeour.’

 

‘Ugh,’ Sirius says. ‘He would be.’ 

 

Sirius had been accepted to the prestigious Auror training programme straight from Hogwarts, but had quit less than a year into it when he’d been given the choice of sending some innocent werewolves to Azkaban or disobeying a direct order. He’d been set up by some of his teachers, who had noticed in him an affinity for Dark Creatures, and who had come to suspect him of not quite having it in him to be an Auror at a time when they were about to be authorised for the use of Unforgivable Curses. He’d known Scrimgeour, already rising through the ranks, always ready to ‘do what must be done’ with a grim determination, rather than think of the morality of it all. Sirius had hated him.

 

Remus gently takes the letter out of Sirius’s hand and places it on the bedside table; then he takes Sirius’s hands and pulls him close, kissing him gently. ‘Maybe we can get the mood back?’ he suggests. 

 

‘Hmm,’ Sirius murmurs, ‘maybe. What are you proposing?’

 

‘I was thinking I’d suck your cock?’ Remus asks sweetly, which is the magic phrase. The world is terrible but this is a refuge. Sirius leans back into the sheets and arches his back as Remus kisses his way down his body, taking his time, teasing at his nipples and belly and hips, carefully avoiding anything but gentle breath on Sirius’s cock. Sirius aches with arousal. He puts one hand in Remus’s thick, slightly curling hair, and tugs him gently towards where he wants his mouth to be. Remus makes a little noise and Sirius pulls his hair a little harder. When they were younger, when they did this all the time, Sirius would have yanked, but now he’s careful, still feeling it out, and he thinks that Remus, who used to tease him to the point of begging, who sometimes used to get up and walk out of the room and leave him unsatisfied for hours just to make it better, is not going to do that now either. 

 

‘You’re overthinking this, love,’ Remus murmurs, and then he takes his cock in his mouth and Sirius forgets all about thinking of any kind for a few minutes. 

 

***

 

They’re lucky that they get that brief time alone, because shortly afterwards, owls start flying in at alarming speed.

 

‘What the hell?’ Sirius asks, as the fifth one in a few minutes pops through the bedroom window, this time a tiny, fluttering thing that seems frightened to land long enough to let him get the letter.

 

‘I imagine Albus has gotten around to answering people’s queries about your innocence,’ Remus replies, digging a box out of a drawer and pouring some owl treats into Sirius’s hand. The flighty little thing lands immediately and starts eating while he removes the letter with his other hand. 

 

Correspondence takes up much of that day, and the next several. There are so many questions to answer. Sirius checks in with Harry periodically, and worries about him constantly. Meanwhile, Voldemort resolutely refuses to show himself, and there are no new attacks. The Ministry passes off Cedric Diggory’s death as the fault of an escaped Death Eater, Barty Crouch Jr. The papers and the government get into a row about Azkaban, and its security; one of Fudge’s strongest critics, Amelia Bones, rails against the escape of two high level Death Eaters in one year. New security measures are proposed, but they’re nothing in the face of the threat that Sirius and Remus know lurks in the background. 

 

This is also the first time that Sirius and Remus have consistently been together in nearly fourteen years. After Sirius had to flee Hogwarts a year ago, he’d come by Remus’s on his way to elsewhere. He knew it was illogical, but he couldn’t resist. Two days of tiptoeing around each other had resulted in an emotional blow up followed by reconciliation and a tentative revival of their relationship, but a close encounter with a Ministry official had convinced them that Sirius needed to leave the country. Remus had wanted to accompany him, but as a Dark Creature, he cannot travel abroad through magical means without special permission. While Sirius was gone, they had corresponded, usually multiple times a day, and when Sirius came rushing back to Britain to look after Harry, Remus had gone to see him as often as he could without arousing suspicion. He’d even persuaded Sirius back to the cottage for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Lying on the couch, full of Christmas dinner, lazy kissing had turned into making love for the first time in over a decade. Sirius had been worried that he never could feel that way again and then, when he wasn’t even thinking of it, he suddenly had. 

 

But this process is hard, uncomfortable, and frustrating; things they had taken for granted before are now a struggle to discuss, work through, and understand. They are carefully, completely honest, and it is has been so, so painful and, at least for Sirius, and he hopes for Remus, so, so rewarding. He really feels like this is worth it, that he is actively building something positive in these burnt out ruins that are his life. And now, finally being able to be together in the same place, he starts to feel like maybe he is going to make it through the other side of this war and into something more.

 

He and Remus have always had a relationship based on proximity; from their earliest days at school, things have been best when they’ve been able to communicate with a silent look or quick touch. Just being in the same room is important. Remus confesses to him one night that he feels codependent, like if Sirius leaves he won’t know what to do. Sirius knows that that’s a big thing to say, for Remus. He tells him that he’s always felt that way. 

 

The other issue at play - which becomes obvious very quickly to Sirius - is that Remus is killing himself just trying to survive on a meagre tutoring salary. Organising the Order blossoms to a tremendous amount of correspondence and Remus refuses to let him do all of it, but he’s constantly exhausted. Sirius has more than enough money for them both to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, but Remus has never in the past even considered taking money from him. Sirius can anticipate the conversation already: something something charity, he doesn’t like it, he has to earn it, martyr complex. 

 

He brings it up anyway, trying this new ‘effective communication’ thing they’ve been working on instead of ignoring a problem until they both decide the other is a spy and multiple people wind up dead. 

 

‘Remus, I want to take our relationship to the next level,’ he announces, at a time when he knows Remus is tired and therefore more emotionally malleable: in the morning, over tea and toast. 

 

Remus frowns at him. ‘What level is that, exactly?’ he asks. 

 

‘I want to give you money.’

 

Remus quirks an eyebrow at him. ‘You want to pay me for sex? I had no idea I was that good.’

 

‘First, you are that good, and second, shut up. You know what I mean.’

 

‘I assure you, I don’t. Do you mean rent? Because that’s absurd. I want you here. You don’t have to pay to be here.’

 

Sirius rolls his eyes. ‘Moony, I want you to stop tutoring.’

 

‘I like tutoring,’ Remus says. There’s a note of strong warning in his voice that Sirius hears and ignores.

 

‘You don’t have the time for it.’

 

‘I…’ Remus pauses. Sirius can see him running through what to say. God, he loves him, to a stupid degree. How is this even possible? To love someone like this? ‘I need to do it, Sirius.’

 

‘This is why I want to share my money with you,’ Sirius says. ‘I won’t notice it’s gone, and it will make your life a lot better.’

 

‘But Sirius…’

 

‘Moony,’ Sirius says, and he tries to lay on the kicker, which also happens to be the truth, though it sounds quite dramatic: ‘I worry about your health. Being a werewolf is rough on your body, you know that. So you need to take care of yourself.’

 

Remus snorts. ‘First of all, it’s funny you should mention that I need to take care of myself when we’re plotting how best to go to war against one of the worst dark wizards of all time. And second of all, part of the reason why being a werewolf is rough is because we get no societal support…’

 

‘So take my support,’ Sirius says. ‘Please. You never would before, and I don’t know why, but please take it now.’ Remus opens his mouth to protest again, and Sirius says, ‘It would make me much, much happier.’

 

‘That’s emotional blackmail,’ Remus says flatly. 

 

‘Probably,’ Sirius admits. ‘But it’s still true.’

 

Remus hums unhappily and pushes his toast around on his plate.

 

‘Remus,’ Sirius says, and then he waits, until Remus looks up. ‘I mean it. I want us to be in a serious, committed relationship-’

 

‘Are we not already?’ Remus asks, sounding alarmed.

 

‘-And to me that means sharing resources.’

 

‘That isn’t how it was before.’

 

‘Only because you’re a stubborn asshole.’

 

‘But I’ve got nothing to share!’

 

Sirius snorts. ‘You’re sharing your home with me right now. And you’re too smart to fall into this idea that your worth is tied to money.’

 

Remus sighs and shuts his eyes for a moment. ‘Sirius…’

 

‘Think about it,’ Sirius says. He thinks he’s won. He has an idea, percolating in the back of his head, about another resource he has that he wants to share, and he’s going to need Remus to be there full-time if he’s to go through with it. His family home would make an excellent headquarters for the Order, but just the thought of going inside of it is panic-attack-inducing. The only thing that will make it bearable to even investigate the possibility is Remus. 

 

***

Ten days after the Triwizard Tournament, Sirius gets a letter from Emmeline: ‘Let’s meet. I want to talk.’ 

 

He shows it to Remus, who says, ‘I guess she had better come here.’

 

They meet her outside of the enchanted boundary that rings the cottage. Sirius is a dog, who is not on a lead thank you very much (though Remus had suggested that he ought to be). Emmeline looks much thinner than when he last saw her - gaunt even - and her face is drawn and serious, like she hasn’t been sleeping. 

 

‘Hello, Emmeline,’ Remus says in a formal tone. 

 

‘Remus,’ she says, and her voice wavers but she maintains control. Sirius sniffs her hand; it is her. He rubs against Remus’s leg to communicate this. ‘Remus, I’m so sorry. About…’

 

‘It’s fine,’ Remus says. ‘Very much water under the bridge. You had no idea.’

 

‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeats. ‘Is this…’ She looks at Sirius. ‘Is this… him?’

 

Remus smiles and says, ‘Come with us.’ He leads her to the enchantment boundary, reaches up, fumbles at the invisible latch. Sirius thinks that they need to make a better design for introducing newcomers; imagine if they’d been being chased and Remus had to do this. Remus finds it, and then leads her through it, into the safe area. Sirius transforms and Emmeline starts crying.

 

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ she says to them both. ‘You have no idea. I spoke with Albus… he confirmed everything… I’ve just been trying to wrap my head around it…’

 

‘Emmy, it’s ok,’ Remus says, putting an arm around her. ‘Come on, let’s have some tea and talk. It’s all going to be fine.’

 

They get inside and Sirius makes tea for them while Remus hands Emmeline a handkerchief and sits with his hand on her shoulder. Soon she’s sniffling into her mug, but calmer.

 

‘This has all brought up so much that I’ve tried to get past,’ she says. ‘I mean, obviously that must be the case for you both as well…’

 

‘It’s ok,’ Sirius says, sitting on her other side. He’d been angry with her before she came for not being kinder to Remus, but now that he sees how truly sorry she is, he’s instantly mollified. ‘Really, Emmy, it’s fine.’

 

‘Albus told me that Peter was James and Lily’s Secret Keeper,’ she says. ‘That you switched at the last moment.’

 

‘That’s right.’

 

She reaches into her robes and pulls out a very tattered piece of parchment. ‘He wrote this to me,’ she says. ‘The night that it happened. I mean, you know we’d broken up ages before… almost a year before… but I still loved him. And I thought that he still loved me.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘We broke up because we were just too frayed from the war. No time for each other, constantly worrying…’ She gives them a watery smile. ‘You remember.’ 

 

Sirius and Remus grin at each other across the table. ‘Indeed,’ Remus says.

 

‘But he wrote me this,’ she says, smoothing it out on the table. ‘You don’t have to read it, but he says he has to go find Sirius - find you - and avenge Lily and James. And, and that he loves me. Was it all a lie, do you think?’

 

Sirius’s first instinct is to say yes, but Remus says, very gently, ‘Peter loved you very much, Emmy. And I think he had complex motives for what he did, but that he was very scared. I think he broke up with you to protect you, because he cared about you. And I think he handed over James and Lily to Voldemort as a last resort. Again, because he was very scared.’ He glances up at Sirius. ‘He said as much to us when we saw him a year ago.’

 

Emmy takes a deep breath. ‘Tell me what happened that night, will you? Or is it too much?’

 

‘Ok,’ Remus says. ‘I’ll tell you. I can’t speak for Sirius…’

 

Sirius nods. ‘You go first, Remus.’

 

***

Albus had been the one to tell him, calmly, gently, but in that Albus way of his, also brisk and to the point - Voldemort was dead, probably. Or at least, gone, for now, and for a long time. The Potters were also dead. And then Albus had had to go, leaving Remus to put together the obvious conclusion. He manages to hold himself together until he gets to Peter’s flat, shakily Apparating in small bursts. 

 

Peter opens the door just a crack, leaving the chain on the lock, and Remus can feel a number of magical locks backing it up as well. 

 

‘Remus?’ Peter whispers.

 

‘Have you heard?’ Remus demands. 

 

‘About….’

 

‘They’re dead, Peter.’

 

‘James and Lily and Harry.’ It’s not a question. 

 

Remus takes in a shaky breath. ‘Peter…’

 

‘And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is defeated…’

 

‘Peter…’

 

‘What?’

 

Remus can barely whisper it. ‘Sirius was their Secret Keeper.’

 

Peter undoes the lock and chain then, waves his wand and the enchantments fall away; he opens the door and Remus practically falls through it. Peter catches him and gives him a tight hug. ‘Remus… I’m so sorry.’

 

Remus considers crying - he wants to cry - but he can’t seem to do it. This is all too surreal. He’s running on pure adrenaline. He grips Peter tightly and tells him the truth: ‘I have no idea what to do.’ 

 

‘We have to find Sirius,’ Peter says. 

 

‘What?’

 

‘We have to find him before the Aurors do.’

 

‘Why?’

 

Peter draws back and gives Remus a long, appraising look. ‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’ 

 

Remus struggles to answer that.

 

‘Sirius is - he was - our best friend, Remus. Aside from everything else to you. And I don’t for a second believe that he has been against us all this time.’

 

‘No,’ Remus whispers. 

 

‘I want to find him,’ Peter says, a sudden burning intensity in his look that Remus has never seen before. ‘I want to know why he did this to James and Lily.’ 

 

‘Yes,’ Remus agrees quietly. ‘All right.’

 

‘Let’s split up,’ Peter says. ‘I don’t know where he’ll go but… we’ll find him faster that way.’

 

‘Ok,’ Remus says. 

 

They leave; Remus has no idea where to go or what to do. He can’t face going home. He wanders London for hours, not really sure what he’s looking for, until Albus finds him again in the morning and tells him that Sirius has been captured, and Peter is dead - but Harry is all right.

 

***

 

Sirius, meanwhile, had left the flat he shares with Remus that night, feeling jittery and nervous. The Potters had gone under Peter’s protection less than twenty four hours before and he has a bad feeling about it all. He doesn’t know where they are but then, suddenly, he does. And he knows the secret has been given up. 

 

He races to Godric’s Hollow on his motorcycle, not trusting himself to Apparate. Soon he can see smoke, and closer in a sickly green glow. He is moving too fast to feel. From the air, even in the dark, he can see that the house is a ruin, rubble everywhere. The front room has been destroyed. The upstairs, where Harry’s room was, is completely blown apart, as if a giant had grabbed the house by two sides and yanked. He lands at the edge and gets off his bike and steps on a pair of glasses that crunch underfoot. He looks down, and will wish for the rest of his life that he hadn’t, because there is James.

 

Then he hears crying from the rubble, and he fights his way through it, cutting his hands and clothes on sharp wood and broken tiles. He has to climb half the stairs to get to the upper pile, and all the while the only sound is this crying baby, Harry, his beloved godson, somewhere in the ruins of this. 

 

He finds him, thrown clear of a stack of white splinters that was once his crib. Lily is nearby. He picks up Harry and closes her eyes and realises that he forgot to close James’s, so he crawls back down the rubble, terrified to drop the baby, until he returns to the body of his best friend. He puts his hand on James’s face, tries to wipe the dirt from it, and just smears it around. He thinks about putting the broken glasses on his face, because he looks weird without them, but somehow the fact that they are broken makes it seem a bigger insult. Harry keeps crying. He closes James’s eyes and stands, trying to bounce and juggle Harry into silence. He finds that Harry has a small cut on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt, oozing a tiny bit of blood; he wipes it away with his filthy fingers and kisses him on the forehead. 

 

It occurs to him that he has no idea where Voldemort is. He wonders if he should leave, take Harry someplace, but he can’t leave James and Lily. He walks with the baby on the street beside the house for nearly a half hour, cooing and shushing him, but he keeps crying. Sirius thinks Harry is in shock. He knows he is.

 

‘Who’s there?’ 

 

The shout belongs to a familiar voice. Sirius blinks and looks up from Harry’s small face. ‘Hagrid?’ he calls, and his voice sounds crazy, wavering out of control. 

 

Hagrid rounds a corner of the rubble. He is white as a ghost, hair somehow wilder than Sirius had ever seen it. He sees Sirius, and then Sirius sees him see Harry, and he comes towards them.

 

‘Sirius? Wha’ happened?’

 

Sirius shakes his head. ‘I think Voldemort was here.’

 

Hagrid must see something - panic, confusion, shock - in his face, because he speaks quietly, calmly. ‘Sirius, Dumbledore sent me to get Harry. He wants to see Harry.’ 

 

Sirius blinks a few times and then looks down at his godson, who has abruptly stopped crying at the sight of the enormous man. ‘Where is he?’

 

‘He asked me to bring him to him.’

 

Sirius kisses Harry’s forehead again. ‘I love you, Harry,’ he whispers against his baby soft skin. Rage is building in him, now, burning away the edges of this blank space at his center. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘Take my motorcycle. That’ll be quickest. And - look after him.’ 

 

He watches Hagrid, his bundle swaddled close to his chest, rise into the sky on the motorcycle. Then he looks at the house. He walks to James, and to Lily, and back to James. 

 

This is his fault. 

 

He didn’t believe in Remus. 

 

He sees it now: how Peter manipulated him, a carefully timed comment here and there, the seeds of suspicion planted. He’s a werewolf, he’s clever, he knows there’s nothing that will change for him, circumstance-wise, if the Ministry prevails. Why is Remus late for this, why did he miss that meeting, isn’t it strange that…

 

And he’d thought: I can’t be objective about Remus. When they’d known there was a spy, he’d thought about everyone else, but he’d never thought about Remus, because he knew it was useless. Whatever he thought about Remus was bound up in too much emotion. 

 

Peter must have seen that too. He must have seen it, and manipulated it. 

 

But Peter was one of his best friends. What had happened? How could he have done this to them?

 

And how could he have trusted Peter over Remus?

 

Sirius grips his wand inside his pocket and Apparates to Peter’s flat. There’s signs that he left in a hurry, but no one there. He considers going home and getting Remus, but he knows that this is his job. He needs to set this situation right, or as right as it can be, which is not right at all, but. 

 

Sirius sniffs the air and thinks about where to go next. He has a rat to find and by morning it will be done. 

 

***

Emmeline has been listening with her head in her hands. Finally, she says, ‘I thought I was completely over this but…’

 

‘Yes,’ Remus agrees, a little faintly. ‘Me too. But it all comes back, now.’ 

 

‘And if Voldemort is back,’ Emmeline says, ‘then this is all going to start happening again, isn’t it?’

 

‘We won’t have a spy this time,’ Sirius says. 

 

‘Peter is well and truly with Voldemort now,’ Emmeline says, almost to herself. ‘He helped resurrect him, Albus said.’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius says. 

 

Emmeline flicks her gaze to him. ‘And he let an innocent man rot in Azkaban.’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius says, meeting her look. 

 

‘Then the Peter I loved is gone,’ she says quietly. ‘He might as well be dead.’

 

Sirius nods. Remus puts a hand over his eyes and Sirius takes his hand across the table. 

 

‘I understand the desire to miss him,’ he says, ‘but…’

 

‘You’ve had nearly thirteen years to think about it,’ Remus says hoarsely. ‘I mourned him the most, you know. Everyone said Lily and James died bravely; everyone sort of made fun of Peter for thinking he could take on you. We always underestimated him, and so did everyone else.’ 

 

‘We won’t make that mistake again,’ Emmeline says. 

 

‘No,’ Remus agrees. 

 

‘I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to defeat Voldemort for good,’ she says. ‘I want to rejoin the Order.’ 

 

***

Sirius is flopping around in bed like a dying fish on a dock. It’s three in the morning, and there’s heavy rain pattering on the window, and he feels like he’s drowning in these sheets. He’s too exhausted to sleep, and his brain is whirring as fast as it can, going over every wrong he’s ever done, which is a lot, and compounds the exhaustion. 

 

‘Padfoot,’ Remus mutters finally. ‘What is the matter?’ 

 

Sirius settles, guilty. He’d thought it was impossible to wake up Remus in the dead of night. ‘Sorry.’

 

‘Don’t be,’ Remus says, rolling onto his side. Sirius sees the gleam of his eyes in the dark room. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

 

Sirius is frustrated. ‘Everything,’ he suggests. ‘I fucked up everything. All of this is my fault. And if I’d gotten to Peter sooner…’

 

‘You know, I’ve never once forgotten a transformation,’ Remus says quietly. ‘Not until that night. Not until I saw your name on the map. And if I hadn’t forgotten…’

 

‘If I hadn’t made him Secret Keeper,’ Sirius snaps. 

 

Remus sighs. ‘We can’t fix the past, Sirius.’

 

Sirius kicks at the sheets violently. ‘Then what can we do?’ he demands. 

 

‘Not dwell on it? Try to make the future better?’

 

‘Do you actually believe your own advice?’

 

Remus laughs softly. ‘Sometimes.’

 

‘I ruined our lives.’

 

Remus reaches out and pulls Sirius close to him, so that their noses are almost touching. ‘I don’t know about you, my love, but I’m hoping to have a lot more life to get through before I make that decision.’ 

 

Sirius puts a hand onto Remus’s cheek. ‘Moony…’

 

‘I love you,’ Remus says. ‘No matter what. You’re a good person. We all make mistakes.’

 

‘My mistakes killed people. People I love.’

 

‘No,’ Remus says quietly. ‘Voldemort killed the people you love. Wormtail killed them. You tried to make the best possible decisions to protect them. This isn’t your guilt to carry.’

 

Sirius starts to cry, and Remus whispers, ‘My love,’ and pulls Sirius’s head into his neck. Sirius sobs against him, but it feels like a tiny weight has been released, like he’s flung off a small piece of ballast and can start to feel the tug of something inside him rising. Eventually, he cries himself out, and Remus is still there, still holding him steady. 

 

*** 

 

Sirius wakes again, and this time Remus kisses him before he says anything and puts one hand on his thigh. This is a classic Remus move, the power of subtle suggestion done with a single, light touch in a sensitive area, and Sirius’s heart starts racing and his mouth starts getting dry and arousal starts throbbing in him. 

 

‘Is this ok?’ Remus whispers, breaking the kiss but not the contact. ‘Or do you…’

 

‘This is ok,’ Sirius whispers back. ‘Better than ok.’ 

 

Remus’s hand strokes up his thigh, gives his hardening cock a tug, and then strokes back down before gripping his leg and pulling it over his body. Sirius winds up straddling him, already breathing heavily, pushing against Remus’s erection and panting into his neck. Remus puts his other hand onto his ass and grips that too, so that he’s holding Sirius tightly against him. Sirius grinds down into him and holds his shoulders and runs his fingers down the laugh lines on his face. He wants to know this, he wants to be here, he wants nothing but this knowledge of how Remus feels right now, beneath him, and around him.

 

In Azkaban, there’d been no physicality, nor even any thoughts of it. His only brushes with his corporeal form were the changes from dog to human and vice versa. The punishment there was in the mind, and the body was an afterthought for the Dementors, for the prison administrators, and most of all for the prisoners, many of whom died because they gave up on the most basic of physical needs. Sirius had forgotten - sometimes willfully, because willful forgetting is what he needed to do to survive the Dementors - what his body feels like when it has desire. Every time Remus touches him like this, he feels like he’s coming alive. 

 

‘It’s too much,’ he gasps, dragging his fingernails down Remus’s chest, and Remus bites his ear and shoves up against him harder. He is going to come, and quickly, especially as Remus thrusts  _ there _ , and grips his ass  _ there _ , and grinds into him right - fucking -  _ there _ . 

 

‘I used to be better at this, I think,’ he says a minute later, when he has caught his breath. 

 

‘Nah,’ Remus says. Sirius cranks his head around to look at him, startled. Remus is gazing at him with big eyes and bats his eyelashes. 

 

‘Fuck off,’ Sirius suggests.

 

‘Trying,’ Remus replies, sugar sweet, slinging his leg over Sirius’s back and pressing into his side. 

 

Sirius hums and pushes back with his hip, but he’s not going to just  _ give _ it to Remus, not after that comment. ‘So you think I wasn’t better?’ 

 

‘Nothing better than this,’ Remus replies, kissing a line down his shoulder, throwing a few nips with his teeth into the mix to keep it interesting. 

 

Sirius laughs. Remus is so very charming, but he’s self conscious. It is an unspoken knowledge between them that Remus has had other lovers in the past several years apart - obviously, as is reasonable, as Sirius tells himself often, trying, of course, to be reasonable - but what if they were better than he is? What if he’s been doing this all wrong? What if…

 

‘Sirius,’ Remus says quietly. ‘What are you thinking?’

 

‘I feel like a pile of rubbish.’

 

‘Well, you’re my pile of rubbish.’

 

‘Were you always this romantic?’

 

Remus hums a little into his shoulder. ‘Not out loud. And for that, I’m sorry. I should have been.’

 

Sirius sighs and turns towards him, so that they are on their sides, face to face, with Remus’s leg atop his. Remus takes his hand and moves it down their bodies, presses it against his hard cock, moans. Sirius shivers involuntarily. He loves this. ‘You’ll say anything to get me to suck on that,’ he says.

 

‘Oh yes,’ Remus agrees. ‘Absolutely. Honestly can’t think of anything but.’

 

Sirius hauls him up and over, so that Remus is on all fours, head hanging down near Sirius’s lower belly, his pendulous cock dangling onto Sirius’s chest, trailing milky liquid onto his skin. He runs his tongue up its back, and Remus moans again; then he wraps a hand around it and pulls Remus back by one hip and takes his whole cock into his mouth, sucking, licking what he can, until Remus is struggling to stay upright, arms shaking, head leaning heavily into Sirius’s upper thigh, gasping and thrusting and then coming, and Sirius swallows all of it at once and then lets Remus collapse on top of him and his cock slide out of his mouth and land wetly against his collarbone. Remus lies, trembling a little, while Sirius strokes one hand up and down his thigh, feeling the long muscle in it, the solidness of him, the realness of the moment. Eventually, Sirius realises that Remus has fallen asleep, and he rouses him and drags him into a normal sleep position. 

 

Much, much later, Remus wakes Sirius with a hand on his face. Sirius blinks at him in the morning light streaming through the window. Remus says, ‘I meant it.’ 


	16. The Start of Harry's Sixth Year

Sirius and Remus arrive at the Burrow very early on the first of September, but Harry is downstairs, waiting for them, his trunk packed, even before they appear at the door. Sirius looks much better than the last time Harry had seen him, but he thinks he can sense a gaunt worry in both of them. They come into the house quickly and Sirius gives Harry a long, tight hug. Harry can see Remus looking on with a faintly worried frown from behind him. 

 

‘Everything all right?’ Sirius asks quietly. ‘I’m so sorry we’ve been so absent. Lots of Order business.’ 

 

‘It’s ok,’ Harry says, a little awkwardly, because he wishes he had seen them more but he knows he has to understand. 

 

Sirius seems to sense this. ‘Let’s take a walk,’ he suggests. ‘We still have quite a while before we need to leave.’

 

Outside, Harry knows there is a perimeter around the Burrow that gives them a little space to walk through the Weasleys’ expansive garden. It is a blustery, chilly day, unseasonably cold, as the whole summer has been. They wander back towards the hedge boundary, talking in low voices. 

 

‘It’s the Dementors, right?’ Harry asks. ‘They’re making the weather so awful?’ Sirius nods, eyes on the ground ahead of him. ‘Is that… I mean… that can’t be good for you.’

 

‘Well,’ Sirius sounds thoughtful, ‘it’s not as bad for me as it is for most, I think. I’m quite used to the effects of Dementors. This is a fairly pleasant level for them to be at, honestly. Though Remus is a bit paranoid that they might have it in for me. Want to finish the job they started, you know.’

 

Harry glances at him, concerned, and Sirius smiles. ‘I wouldn’t worry.’ 

 

They come to a slightly listing wooden bench beside the hedge. Sirius toes a gnome off of it so they can sit and Harry, watching him, thinks of better times, de-gnoming the garden years ago, everyone so innocent and happy. 

 

‘How have you been, Harry? Really?’

 

‘I’ve been…’ Harry has no idea where to begin. ‘Did Professor Dumbledore tell you that I went with him to meet the new Defence professor?’

 

Sirius shakes his head, eyebrows raised. ‘How did it go? Who is it?’ 

 

‘He’s named Horace Slughorn.’

 

Sirius frowns. ‘Really?’

 

‘Do you know him?’

 

‘He taught Potions when I was at school. I can’t imagine him teaching Defence.’

 

‘But Snape teaches Potions,’ Harry says. ‘Unless…’

 

‘Maybe Albus wants him available for missions,’ Sirius says. 

 

‘That would be amazing,’ Harry says fervently. ‘If Snape wasn’t teaching.’ 

 

Sirius grins. ‘We can only hope.’

 

‘What was Professor Slughorn like when he was your teacher?’

 

‘Hm,’ Sirius says. ‘He’s an interesting fellow. He was…’ he seems to be searching for words. ‘He was a good professor. I learned a tremendous amount from him. And he seemed to genuinely love the subject and to keep up with new research and want to make sure we really did learn.’

 

‘So he sounds good!’

 

Sirius is clearly still searching. ‘He’s… I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of him. He’s got a bad habit of playing favourites. Usually those favourites are Purebloods, from good families, but not always.’ He smiles, fondly, like he’s thinking of something far in the distance. ‘I’ll tell you a story. On our first day of class, I was sitting with - I think your father - one of the other Gryffindor boys, anyway. He announced that we needed to partner up for the first lesson and I obviously thought I’d be partnering with one of them. Then he came over to me and asked me to be someone else’s partner. I thought he’d decided we were going to be rowdy or wanted to break up the Gryffindors and get inter-house friendships going but no, what he actually wanted was for me to help a Muggleborn girl.’ Sirius rolls his eyes. ‘I later realised that he thought since I was the most Pureblooded of them all, I should be the best at helping out this girl. Of course what actually happened is that she turned out to be amazing at Potions - one of the top students in our year - and that I wound up learning more from her than she ever would have from me.’ He looks at Harry. ‘Lily, of course.’ 

 

‘Really?’ Harry asks. ‘She was good at Potions?’ 

 

‘The best,’ Sirius says. ‘Knowing him, he’ll tell you all about her.’ He smiles at Harry. ‘Did anything else interesting happen?’ Harry hesitates, not sure if he should tell him about seeing Draco in Knockturn Alley, but Sirius frowns and says, ‘Whatever it is, Harry, you know you can tell me.’ 

 

‘You know Draco Malfoy?’

 

‘My cousin,’ Sirius says dryly. ‘I don’t exactly know him but I certainly know who he is. And I know his parents much better than I’d like to.’

 

‘Oh right,’ Harry says, feeling stupid. ‘I always forget…’

 

‘Thank you,’ Sirius says sincerely, and then he laughs. ‘Truly, thank you, I appreciate it. Sometimes I worry that that’s all anyone ever thinks of me.’

 

‘No,’ Harry says, ‘not at all. I mean, I knew you before I knew you were related to them all but…’ He thinks back to Lucius Malfoy, to Bellatrix. ‘No. Absolutely not.’ 

 

Sirius looks very pleased. ‘What about Draco, then?’

 

‘He’s…’ Harry pauses. ‘I think he’s up to something, Sirius. Ron and Hermione think I’m crazy but… I think he’s gotten the Dark Mark.’

 

Sirius raises an eyebrow, and Harry hastily explains his evidence from Madame Malkin’s and Borgin and Burkes. ‘I know he’s really young,’ he finishes, anticipating Sirius’s argument, but Sirius looks troubled and shakes his head. 

 

‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t know about that. In the last war… well, I wouldn’t be shocked, I suppose. It’s more that I assume Lucius, and by extension Cissy - Narcissa, sorry, we never called her by her full name - are in a great deal of trouble with Voldemort right now. After what happened at the Ministry, I mean. And I don’t know how Draco fits into that but… he’s still just a boy. It can’t be good, whatever it is.’

 

‘You mean the prophecy getting destroyed? You think Voldemort is punishing them?’

 

Sirius nods. He’s looking at the ground, clearly deep in thought. ‘Harry…’

 

‘What?’

 

Sirius looks up and looks directly at him. It’s obvious that he is trying to think how to say something. ‘Be careful,’ he says finally. ‘It sounds stupid. Voldemort is obviously after you. But I can’t overstate how dangerous that really is. He lured you to the Ministry…’

 

‘I know,’ Harry says, hot shame flooding through him. ‘I know, Sirius. And I’m really sorry…’

 

Sirius shakes his head and waves his hand. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. You have nothing to be sorry for.’

 

‘I almost got you killed.’

 

‘But you didn’t,’ Sirius says with a little shrug. ‘And even if you had, even if you had gotten everyone killed, it wouldn’t be your fault. Those Occlumency lessons were a terrible idea and I’ve already spoken with Albus about them-’

 

‘He said I’d be having private lessons with him!’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius agrees forcefully. ‘That’s what should have happened all along.’

 

Harry is startled; it had never once occurred to him to question Dumbledore, much less to criticise him. ‘But I should have-’

 

Sirius shakes his head again. ‘Harry, listen. Learn from mistakes, take them seriously, but don’t take them personally. Don’t dwell on them.’  He smiles sardonically. ‘Trust me on that one.’ 

 

‘It was so hard to know what was real, with the Occlumency,’ Harry confesses. ‘And Umbridge…’ He longs to tell Sirius about what she’d done to him, how she’d tried to deny the truth and bleed it out of him with that evil quill. Sometimes in her detentions, as unwavering as he’d tried to be, he’d found himself questioning if he really had seen what he knew he’d seen: how could she be so obtuse, how could she deny it so much that it inflicted physical pain on him? 

 

But he also knows that if he tells Sirius, it will be one more thing for him to worry about, and more than that, it will be a thing that is no longer actively hurting him. He looks at his godfather’s concerned, expectant face, and finishes lamely, ‘she just made such a weird, I don’t know, atmosphere in the school, it was hard to, well, to know what to do.’

 

Sirius puts an arm around him and pulls him close, giving him a tight hug that Harry returns gratefully. ‘You did brilliantly,’ Sirius says, keeping his arm around Harry’s shoulders. ‘So like I said, learn from your mistakes. Be careful. I know you aren’t going to just keep your head down - I know that’s not how you are, and I understand - but be careful about what you’re doing. Keep James’s invisibility cloak with you. Keep Ron and Hermione close.’ He leans back a bit and looks at Harry in a way that Harry thinks is meant to be stern. It’s not particularly convincing. ‘And keep me - and Remus - in the loop. Write to us.’

 

Harry has never felt such a singularly directed force of parental worry before; embarrassingly, his throat aches from wanting to cry. Without meaning to sound so plaintive, he asks, ‘Will you write to me too?’

 

‘Absolutely,’ Sirius says. 

 

‘And, you know,’ Harry is still embarrassed, but he rushes into saying it, ‘you be careful too. I’ll be at Hogwarts, but you’ll be out here.’

 

Sirius smiles and then looks off to the side. Harry follows his gaze and sees Remus standing by the doorway to the garden; Remus sees them looking and waves. ‘The car from the Ministry is here,’ he calls.

 

‘Ready?’ Sirius asks, and Harry, not really feeling it at all, nods. 

 

***

 

They get to Kings Cross easily, and go through the barrier. For the first time ever, Harry has his own dedicated family with him, and as much as he loves the Weasleys, he never knew how much he’d wanted this until now. People are staring at him openly, as if daring him to acknowledge it; he thinks a few of them are also staring at Sirius in a similar way, but with Remus and Sirius at his side, he feels shielded from the naked greediness of their looks. Together, the three of them get his trunk and Hedwig in her cage directly next to the train and then they look at each other, lost for words. Harry has a sudden fear that he might never see one, or both, of them again. 

 

Remus reaches out and puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders. ‘Have a good term, and we’ll see you at Christmas,’ he says in a kind voice. ‘Write to us, please.’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius echoes, stepping forward and hugging Harry, who returns the hug as tightly as he can. ‘Promise you will.’

 

‘I will.’

 

‘Promise?’ Sirius asks, again clearly trying to sound stern. Remus’s lips quirk like he’s trying not to smile.

 

‘I promise,’ Harry says.

 

‘About anything,’ Sirius says, all pretense of sternness gone. ‘School, friends, Quidditch, anything or anyone you’re worried about…’

 

Harry nods. The train whistles and Sirius huffs out a breath. ‘This is stressful,’ he says to them both. 

 

‘We will see you soon,’ Remus says, very firmly. ‘Do you want a hand with your trunk?’

  
Harry shakes his head. Sirius is looking between them, his lips pressed in a thin worried line. Harry can’t help but grin at his concerned parent look. ‘No, I’m pretty used to it.’ He grabs it and the cage and steps away from them. ‘See you soon!’ he calls back, and sets off down the corridor. As the train starts to pull away, he looks for them out the window, Sirius watching the train while Remus says something in his ear that makes him suddenly break into a laugh and look at Remus, before he looks back at the train, worry immediately returning to his face. 


	17. The Summer Before and the Start of Harry's Sixth Year, Sirius's Perspective

The pub is warm and the company excellent, Sirius and Remus and Emmeline, having one too many, laughing together like they’re teenagers again, like there’s not a war on and almost two decades between them and seventeen. Sirius is telling the story of falling in love with Remus, the summer after sixth year, realising it when he saw Remus on a filthy dancefloor at a punk gig snogging the most beautiful girl - no, woman - he’d ever seen.

 

‘Who was she?’ Emmeline asks, giggling. 

 

‘An art student at UCL,’ Remus says. 

 

‘You’re leaving out a crucial detail,’ Sirius points out. ‘She was also 23.’

 

‘What?’ Emmeline gasps. ‘No!’

 

‘She thought I was older,’ Remus interjects.

 

‘How much older?’ 

 

Remus shakes his head. His cheeks are very red. ‘Just… older.’

 

‘They broke up at the end of the summer because he told her he was going back to school,’ Sirius says, grinning. 

 

Emmeline laughs harder. ‘Oh my god, you didn’t know she thought you were older?’

 

‘I thought age was just a number and my personality spoke for itself,’ Remus sniffs.

 

‘And she was beautiful?’

 

Remus glances at Sirius and grins. 

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius confirms. ‘Really.’

 

‘So you realized you were in love with him…’

 

‘And then in classic teenage fashion, spent the entire summer moping around, accompanying them on dates.’

 

‘What?’

 

‘She didn’t believe in dating,’ Remus clarifies. ‘It was too old fashioned for her. So she would invite me out and tell me to bring a friend. And so I’d bring Sirius…’

 

‘Because I was always eager to do anything he invited me to…’

 

‘And inevitably, because she was in art school, she would want to go to an art museum.’

 

‘Or there was that time we went to that performance art, where that man played a guitar with his…’

 

‘And then halfway through the outing, she’d decide she still fancied me…’

 

‘And I’d wind up standing guard while they copped off in the toilets.’

 

‘Oh god,’ Emmeline says, wiping her eyes from laughter. ‘I can just picture you. Presumably sulking and miserable.’

 

‘Absolutely,’ Sirius says. ‘Totally convinced that no one had ever had it as badly as I. When they broke up, it was the best day of my life.’ He looks at Remus and grins. ‘I mean, of course I was sympathetic to your broken heart…’

 

‘And I was very broken hearted.’

 

‘She was beautiful,’ Emmeline grins.

 

‘And clever.’ Remus pauses, looks back at Sirius. ‘I should look her up.’ He waits a beat and adds, ‘I bet her first question will be if we ever got together.’

 

‘She will definitely be asking if I ever told you how I feel.’

 

Later, Emmy goes to the toilets as they are leaving. She meets them outside the pub, where they are holding hands and kissing underneath a street lamp. ‘How do you two keep the romance alive?’ she asks jokingly.

 

‘Lots of near death experiences,’ Sirius suggests, as Remus says, ‘Twelve and a half year absences.’ 

 

***

 

Two nights later, Sirius and Remus stand in Emmeline’s ruined kitchen. The light through the windows glows eerily green from the fading Dark Mark above the house. They were the Order members able to respond and had arrived, as always when the Mark appears, too late to do anything. 

 

Emmeline did not go without a fight.

 

‘Well,’ Remus says eventually, after Sirius is done retching in the garden, ‘at least we know she won’t be coming back as a useful Inferi.’ Sirius looks at him and sees him looking away, out the window and up at the sky. Then he strides out of the house. Sirius follows him, terror gripping his chest.

 

‘How did they know about her?’ he demands of Remus’s tense back. ‘She’s - she was an editor. Of textbooks. She wasn’t an Auror. She wasn’t in law enforcement…’

 

‘What are you asking?’ Remus says quietly.

 

Sirius licks his lips. ‘Was it Kreacher? Did he tell them about her?’

 

Remus blinks. ‘They could have found out she was a member of the Order from any number of ways. It’s not like we wear masks.’

 

‘But what if it was Kreacher?’ Sirius cannot forgive himself that Kreacher had been able to go to Narcissa.

 

Remus hesitates. ‘Well, maybe it’s time to, well, ask him what he told her.’ 

 

***

After Sirius’s release from St Mungo’s, they had moved into Remus’s cottage, but, fearing its discovery by Death Eaters, they had decided to build a magical workshop somewhere remote and easier to guard. 

 

Magic burns the landscape; the more powerful, and more frequent, the stronger the burn. Places like Hogsmeade or Godric’s Hollow are indelible magical stains from centuries of wizardry and witchcraft and individual magical activities within them bleed into the wider impression. Other areas are more diffuse, but still do not have definable magical points, just a kind of glow - the area round where the Weasleys, Diggorys, and Lovegoods live, for example. London, Glasgow, and other large cities are the same, except Leeds, which expelled its wizards in the 1200s and has never had its population recover. However, Remus’s cottage is remote, away from any wizarding communities, and any strong or sustained use of magic there would be discoverable by a dedicated party - like someone seeking out wizards to do them harm. 

 

Sirius and Remus have been intensive enough students of the magic of cartography to understand how to manipulate that magical landscape. Pouring over Ordnance Survey maps, they had found a small island off the Welsh coast that would suit them well. Legally, it is close to the magical border between the UK and the Republic of Ireland, and so Apparition to its west side would be difficult due to treaties on magical travel between the countries - that border, scene of so much violence throughout the twentieth century, remains quite fortified. The island has only one Muggle approach, by boat, to a single opening in the coastline’s impressive wall of cliffs. It has a few farms on the east side of the island, but the bulk of it is untamed moorland. There is a historical marker on the Ordnance map, an abandoned croft, that seems like it will be perfect. 

 

They Apparate to near the dock and walk up a steep hill to look out over the verdant landscape. It is a rare sunny day in a summer of gloom, and they can see for miles. Seabirds wheel and kite overhead and there are a few curious sheep who follow the progress of these two men walking across the island. It takes them a half hour to find the croft; it really has been abandoned. Sirius repeatedly walks a perimeter around it, laying down the first defensive spell, while Remus starts to clear debris from the interior. With a few hours of work, they have made a place that seems likely to be overlooked by Death Eaters, challenging to get to, and yet easily left if discovered. They walk back down the path to the dock to Apparate from there, both laying out traces of magic to catch anyone walking this same path. They have cast a glamour so that anyone on the island who sees them will not be inquisitive enough to wonder where these two outsiders are walking. 

 

‘Peter could find us here,’ Sirius says as they are leaving the croft, standing back and looking at the rough stone walls and the wooden boards for a roof. From a Muggle viewpoint, the roof is collapsed and the door missing. ‘He could at least make an educated guess and narrow down where we would go.’

 

‘Peter knows where the cottage is,’ Remus points out. ‘He knows where Grimmauld Place is, too.’ They have agreed not to specifically hunt Peter for Harry’s sake, and they think he knows it; they haven’t seen crooked whisker nor naked tail of him in over two years. Still, it is unnerving to know that the enemy has someone who knows them so well. 

 

***

Sirius and Remus have had - not exactly a fight - but certainly a series of disagreements about Kreacher. The denouement of the Ministry battle and the clear proof that Sirius’s treatment of Kreacher has had some disastrous consequences beyond just being an asshole to one elf mean that Remus had effectively been correct, but neither one is going to admit it aloud.

 

Sirius can’t bear to go back to Grimmauld Place, obviously, so they don’t even discuss that. They leave Emmeline’s ruined house and Apparate immediately to the island. It is a grim walk up the hill and through the fields in the dark; the clouds are low and there is no natural light, only Sirius’s wand tip. One more from their generation is dead from this terrible war. The path is steep and muddy and once they reach moorland it stops being a path at all and rocks rise up unexpectedly. They know they are nearing the croft, which is near the coast, because they begin to hear the multitude of seabirds cooing and rustling in their nests below them on the cliff wall. 

 

Once inside their workshop, Remus lights several lanterns that hang around the place, casting a flickering light that feels ominous and magnifies shadows. Sirius suspects it’s just his mood. He leans against the heavy work table, currently spread with maps of all kinds, correspondence, and runes charts. He doesn’t want to do this.

 

When Sirius was a child, he ran away from home with great frequency. The house was miserable. His mother was gone often, and ranged between cloyingly sweet and tipsily angry when she was there. His father had never liked him as well as he liked Regulus and made no secret of it. Kreacher felt the same. So Sirius would sneak out and explore London and count down the days until he would go to Hogwarts and then, inevitably, Kreacher would come to retrieve him. His parents never said a word about him disappearing, just waited some amount of time - he never could guess why sometimes Kreacher would come within minutes, intercepting him before he was out of Mayfair, and why, at least on one occasion, it had got to seem like he would be sleeping rough under a bridge by the river before the elf came. Kreacher wouldn’t say a word either, just take him by the arm, often by surprise, and Apparate him back into the house. 

 

And he’s always wondered - why did Kreacher like Regulus better? What is wrong with him? A house elf is supposed to love every member of the family, but for as long as he can remember, it hasn’t been so and when he was a child, that had hurt him, deeply. 

 

‘I’m going outside,’ Remus says now. ‘All right?’

 

Sirius nods. Kreacher can’t stand the sight of Remus, who he seems to view as the reason there will be no more heirs to the House of Black. Remus exits the croft and Sirius can hear him crunching around the rocky ground outside the building. Then Sirius snaps his fingers and wordlessly summons the elf. 

 

Kreacher is startled, but recovers quickly. He stares at Sirius hatefully and croaks, ‘What does Master Black want?’ 

 

Before Kreacher can start muttering under his breath, Sirius says, ‘I want to know what you told Narcissa.’

 

Kreacher is clearly caught off guard, and Sirius thinks vividly of Hermione and Remus, trying to convince him that house elves have feelings that deserve to be respected. Then Kreacher says, ‘I told her that it was very nice to see her after so long without seeing a - without seeing  _ many _ proper wizards.’

 

Sirius rolls his eyes. ‘Great,’ he says. ‘I’m sure she appreciated the pleasantries. What did you tell her about the Order of the Phoenix?’

 

Kreacher hesitates. ‘I told her you were at home,’ he says finally, and it is clear that the words are being dragged out of him. Sirius almost pities him - almost. ‘I told her that you sometimes talk to Harry Potter using the Floo Network, and that he - filthy Halfblood that he is - is very dear to you. I told her that Andromeda’s Halfblood daughter was with you. I told her that you -’ he glances up at Sirius, who tries to maintain a neutral expression, ‘I told her that you were a blood traitor with a halfblood werewolf.’ Kreacher offers this last as what he clearly thinks it is, a terrible insult. It makes Sirius want to laugh. Kreacher had apparently just told her a load of family gossip. 

 

‘Anything else, Kreacher?’ 

 

Kreacher seems to be struggling with something. Sirius assumes it’s going to be some other random piece of gossip, probably that he saw Sirius disrespecting yet another tenet of the House of Black. 

 

‘Go on…’

 

Kreacher’s mouth twists and he says very quickly. ‘Mistress Narcissa called over Mistress Bellatrix and she asked me about some of Regulus’s things but I told her they were gone.’ He pauses. ‘I told her you threw them away.’

 

‘Oh,’ Sirius says, a bit blankly. He supposes he had thrown away quite a few of Regulus’s things. And a second later, he supposes that this is the kind of thing Kreacher would be upset about - though he wonders why Bellatrix asked. ‘Anything else?’ 

 

Kreacher shakes his head. 

 

Sirius hesitates. ‘Kreacher, you must promise me that in future, you won’t talk to anyone from the family but me. Do you understand?’ 

 

Kreacher winces as if in terrible pain. Sirius assumes he is not faking. ‘Yes, Master Black.’

 

Sirius tries to be kind. ‘Where would you like to stay? You can go back to the house or…’ Kreacher is already nodding. ‘And you’re… you’re all right there? Do you need anything, or…’ Kreacher shakes his head, an odd expression on his face. ‘Ok, well, if you do need something,’ Sirius says, hoping he’s not going to regret this, ‘please come tell me. Also if you notice some disturbance with the house.’ Kreacher nods again, still that strange look. ‘All right,’ Sirius says, standing. ‘Well, thank you. Goodbye.’ Kreacher frowns at him and vanishes with a pop. 

 

Remus comes in the door almost immediately. ‘How was it?’ he asks. 

 

‘Honestly?’ Sirius says, puzzling, ‘I’m a bit unnerved by the whole thing.’ He summarises what Kreacher had said. 

 

‘Any of Regulus’s things?’ Remus repeats. ‘What’s that about?’ 

 

‘You’re not upset that he outed us?’ 

 

Remus rolls his eyes. ‘I mean it, SIrius. Why would Bellatrix care about Regulus’s things? Is there some powerful magical object or…’

 

Sirius shrugs helplessly. ‘You remember what the house was like,’ he says. ‘But I think we got everything of value or use and destroyed what wasn’t…’

 

‘Yeah…’ Remus crosses to their worktable. There are a few things from Grimmauld Place there, of which a finely wrought antique Sneak-O-Scope is probably the prized item. It lies dormant. ‘But would we necessarily have recognised something valuable?’

 

‘Arthur would have,’ Sirius says. ‘Or Mad-Eye.’

 

Remus nods. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he agrees. ‘Should we tell Albus?’

 

They consider it, but Albus seems to have vanished on a mission to somewhere they cannot reach; Remus’s wolf Patronus returns unable to have delivered its message, which suggests that Albus is somewhere truly dark indeed. They become distracted trying to discern his location with mapping magic, and still find nothing. Britain is studded with swirling vortices of magical import, places where great magical events (not necessarily connected to wizards - many are ancient dragon lairs) occurred - the two from the twentieth century are Godric’s Hollow and the site of the final battle between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. The intensity of each fluctuates according to both arcane and mundane patterns, as for example the two known on coastal cliffs change with the tide and the ones located under Ben Nevis, Snowden, Scafell, and Snaefell are all linked to the weather. Albus does not seem to be at any of these either - but there are hidden ones, too, marking events that have been lost to time, and how many of these there are in the landscape is unknown but probably far outnumbers the known ones. Ultimately they are forced to conclude that Albus is truly somehow  _ nowhere to be found _ , an incredibly rare magical circumstance, which is a deep enough mystery that they push aside the question of whatever Bellatrix wanted and discuss it, fruitlessly, deep into the night. 

 

Three days later, they see Albus at an Order meeting. One of his hands is shrivelled and black. He won’t discuss it. 

 

***

After seeing Harry off to Hogwarts, Order business becomes almost nonstop. They take up a project that had been discussed in the previous war but never fully implemented, a magical encryption scheme for owl-based communication using enchanted runes, and have a great deal of success writing a spell that any Order member can use. Attacks on Apparating wizards and witches become commonplace, with the Death Eaters apparently developing a spell that can pull someone in the act of Apparating out of the ether. Splinching is the least of someone’s worries who is caught that way, and a member of the Abbott family is found dead probably as a result of this in early autumn. Order members start having to enchant their Apparition paths, which is time consuming and requires a high level of magical skill. They meet together in small groups to practice, and Sirius thinks of Harry, and Dumbledore’s Army, and misses his godson immensely. 

 

Then Remus takes on a mission he has taken on before, which is envoy to Dark creatures, and Sirius is left to his own devices in the cottage. Harry, at least, writes more frequently now. 

 

Of course, that means Sirius is worrying about him so much that he thinks it counts for both James  _ and _ Lily. 

 

Then Harry sends Sirius a letter about Snape as his Defence professor, and Sirius almost lights the cottage on fire in rage trying to get into the Floo Network. 

 

He arrives at Molly’s house in a puff of Floo powder and emotion, striding out of her fireplace and into her kitchen holding Harry’s letter. She’s standing at the sink. It takes him a second to realise how alarmed she is. 

 

‘We need to talk about the education of our children,’ he says, trying to explain. ‘Does Ron ever write to you about school?’

 

‘Umm…’

 

‘Sorry. Are you busy?’ Sirius pauses, suddenly feeling immensely awkward. ‘I can come back later.’

 

Molly glances behind her, then shakes her head. ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ she says. 

 

‘It seems… important.’ Sirius rolls his eyes at himself, feeling like a fool. ‘Sorry, Molly. I should have owled ahead.’

 

‘No, no,’ she says. ‘Let’s talk.’ She reaches for the kettle. ‘And no, Ron doesn’t really write about school much. Why, has Harry written to you?’ 

 

Sirius nods and reaches for two mugs from the sideboard. ‘Harry wrote to me about his new professors and I have some serious concerns. And I was thinking that we, as, you know, well...’

 

‘Parents,’ Molly says firmly, pouring him his tea. 

 

Sirius takes a deep breath. ‘Well, you, obviously, and me of a sort, yes.’

 

She hands him the milk and gestures to the table in a clear invitation to sit. ‘Yes, you are his parent,’ she says, and Sirius loves her for it. ‘So you were thinking we should…?’

 

‘I don’t know. Write to Albus. Write to Minerva. Something.’

 

They sit down across from each other at one end of the long table. Molly is clearly trying not to smile. ‘Remus has been gone a few days, has he?’

 

Sirius glares, tries to maintain the glare, and fails. ‘That’s not the only reason I’m concerned, you know.’

 

‘I know,’ she says. ‘But it might be why this is occupying you.’ She leans forward and puts her chin on her hand. ‘Tell me your concerns.’

 

‘Severus is their new Defence professor.’

 

Molly makes a face. ‘What can Albus be thinking?’ she asks. ‘They never have a good professor for that course. Well, not since Remus. The children all adored him, you know.’

 

Sirius is happy to hear that - wants to hear that - but instantly feels bitter. ‘And yet he can’t teach there again. Because people are horrid and think a werewolf would, would…’

 

‘There’s not a lot of education about werewolves,’ Molly says gently. ‘Many people don’t know they’re harmless most of the time.’

 

‘People call it a curse, instead of recognising that it’s an illness, nothing more. Some people think werewolves should be, you know, should be punished for…’ Sirius sputters out, upset. ‘This isn’t the point,’ he says. 

 

‘No,’ Molly agrees. ‘We have to work with the ingredients we have to make the potion. Now, obviously Severus is not ideal, especially for such an important class.’

 

‘You know he was supposed to give Harry Occlumency lessons last year and they were a disaster.’

 

Molly frowns sympathetically. ‘Severus is so biased against Harry, and by extension Ron, and Hermione… It seems absurd to have him teach them, but I’m sure there were no other options.’

 

Sirius nods but can think of nothing more to say. ‘I’m upset about it,’ he says, more plaintive than he means to be, ‘but we can’t really trouble Albus over this.’

 

‘He can’t be spending much time at Hogwarts anyway,’ Molly says. ‘Not with all the things he seems to be doing.’

 

Sirius nods again and stares into his tea. ‘What do you think he’s doing?’

 

Molly hums and then says, ‘Arthur and I have speculated, of course. But… just like we didn’t know what was in the Ministry, I don’t think we’re going to figure this one out either.’

 

‘It’s so absurd,’ Sirius says. ‘He says that if something happens to him, instructions will come to Remus, but shouldn’t Remus be receiving instructions already? So he can be ready if…’

 

‘Hopefully it doesn’t come to that,’ Molly says. They both take deep breaths at the same time, and then meet each other’s eyes and smile. ‘I’m sorry, Sirius,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

 

‘It’s nice just to talk about it,’ Sirius admits. He looks at the counter behind her and notices the big clock, all of its hands pointing towards ‘Mortal Danger’. ‘How does that clock work?’ he asks.

 

Molly glances behind herself at it and says, ‘I don’t totally know. My mother gave it to me when I was pregnant with Bill. It only had two hands then. I know it was made by a travelling peddler but beyond that, I don’t know much. It always grew an arm while I was pregnant - it’s how I found out about Ginny!’ 

 

Sirius leans forward, incredibly intrigued. ‘But it normally gives a location that corresponds to a real place, right? When it’s not on mortal danger?’ He can see the places on the face for ‘travelling’ and ‘work’ and ‘school’. 

 

‘Yes,’ Molly says. ‘It came with nearly all of them, but Arthur added “dentist” as a bit of a joke about Muggles.’ 

 

‘You can add locations?’ 

 

Molly reaches back and passes him the clock, holding it with both hands. Sirius runs his hands over it, feeling its magic. ‘It’s quite powerful, when you think about it,’ she says, and he nods. 

 

‘Remus and I - we were thinking of making a map and putting the Order members on it,’ he says. ‘To track their locations. But what I find most interesting is that the locations here are both real and…’ he searches for the word to describe what ‘mortal danger’ is. ‘Real and figurative.’

 

‘You’re welcome to study it,’ Molly says. ‘Though I’d prefer it if you did it here. I like to be close to it.’

 

And so Sirius - with Molly’s help - begins the project of a new kind of Marauders’ Map. 

 

***

 

Remus comes home without warning, through the kitchen door in the middle of the afternoon, looking pale and thin and with his cloak drenched from the driving autumn rain. Sirius, sitting at the table and reading the Prophet after a morning at the workshop, is on his feet and to him within seconds. Remus sort of collapses against him; he’s sodden and heavy and the best thing Sirius has ever felt. 

 

‘Moony,’ he says against his neck, and Remus clutches him tightly for a second before drawing back and saying, ‘I have to sleep.’

 

Sirius follows him into the bedroom. ‘What happened?’ he asks, worry starting to cloud out the happiness of seeing Remus home.

 

‘I’ll tell you soon,’ Remus says, plainly exhausted. He disappears down the hall and into the bathroom; Sirius frets in the bedroom. When Remus returns, he’s wearing pyjamas. He crawls into the bed and pulls the duvet up to his neck. Sirius sits down on the edge of the bed and says, ‘Moony-’

 

‘Really,’ Remus says. ‘I will tell you soon. I am exhausted. I need to sleep.’ He finishes pulling the duvet up over his head. Sirius stands and shuts the blinds to keep out the fading daylight and goes to fetch the paper. 

 

Remus sleeps through the night. Sirius curls up beside him and wraps his arms around him but he does not even stir; in the morning, he is turned away from Sirius but still soundly asleep. Throughout the day, Sirius tries to write up his notes about his and Molly’s latest ideas for the map, but is increasingly consumed by thoughts of what had transpired on Remus’s mission. Remus finally gets up, without preamble, around noon; he goes to the toilet, returns, and crawls back under the duvet. 

 

‘Moony-’

 

‘Later,’ Remus croaks.

 

Hours later, an owl taps on the window. Sirius is up like a shot - what if it says something about whatever has happened to Remus - but instead it is a letter from Harry. He has written about Katie Bell’s curse from a magical necklace and his suspicions that Draco Malfoy is behind it. Sirius gently shakes Remus’s shoulder. 

 

‘Mmh?’

 

‘Letter for us,’ Sirius says, and passes it to Remus before he can close his eyes again. He watches him read it once, then read it again. Then he says, with meaning, ‘A powerful Dark object, Remus.’

 

Remus nods and leans back into the pillow. ‘Do you remember a necklace like that?’

 

Sirius thinks and shakes his head helplessly. ‘There were so many things in that house…’ 

 

‘Another mystery,’ Remus says, and makes like he is going to go back to sleep again. Sirius panics. 

 

‘What is wrong?’ he demands, sounding angrier than he means to. ‘Remus, please tell me, what happened?’ He can’t help himself, and his tone turns to pleading. ‘You’re really scaring me.’

 

He can see Remus consider going back to sleep anyway, but then he pushes himself up, carefully, like it’s painful on his wrists, and Sirius knows that the full moon was only a few days ago and he aches for Remus’s pain. 

 

‘It’s an impossible mission,’ Remus says quietly, ‘convincing people that they should trust the Order when there’s the history there of what has been done by witches and wizards of supposed good conscience.’ He looks up at Sirius and meets his eyes for the first time since he came home. ‘So that’s… it’s hard. Their lives are very hard, without access to proper healthcare or education or…’ He shakes his head. ‘There but for the grace of Albus go I.’ 

 

Sirius reaches for him but Remus holds up a hand, holding him off. Sirius hates it. ‘There’s another thing.’

 

‘What?’ 

 

Remus closes his eyes, and when he opens them they are glittering. ‘Do you remember Fenrir Greyback?’ 

 

‘Death Eater,’ Sirius says, not sure where this is going. ‘I can’t remember… did he die? Or go to Azkaban?’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘Neither. He went into hiding.’ He blinks several times, eyes still wet. ‘He’s a werewolf, you know.’

 

Sirius remembers now. ‘The one who was biting people even when he was in human form.’

 

Remus nods. 

 

‘What about him? Is he back?’

 

Remus nods again. 

 

‘Did you see him?’

 

‘He’s running the show,’ Remus says quietly. ‘In London. The entire werewolf community is in thrall to him. Apparently he’s made them a lot of promises if they’ll be loyal to Voldemort.’

 

‘Fuck,’ Sirius says. ‘Did you meet him?’

 

Remus hesitates and looks off to one side. ‘Yes,’ he says finally. ‘And he… he remembered me. I didn’t remember him - didn’t know that I even should. But he remembered me.’

 

Sirius feels certain there’s something important here that he’s not quite catching. ‘From the Order?’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘From when I was a child,’ he says, voice now deathly quiet. ‘From when he bit me.’


	18. The Creation of Remus Lupin, Werewolf, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter split into two because it became much longer than I intended it to. Mainly because I got carried away writing a bunch of pornography into it. Please be warned that there are two (2!) explicit sex scenes in this chapter! As always, comments are welcome and I hope you enjoy! Part 2 should arrive very soon, just editing that one now.

Over the Christmas holidays of their seventh year, when it is just the two of them at Remus’s parents’ house, he and Sirius have a fight that Remus has been both anticipating and dreading for actual years - a fight called, why do you like James better than me? He is terrified of the answer, but also morbidly curious about it, turning it over and over again, studying how those two interact, obsessing over what is wrong with him - even though he knows what it is. He’s not like James; he could never be like James.

 

After all, he’s a werewolf. 

 

Remus feels petulant bringing it up, but somehow it gets to a breaking point that afternoon and once they are alone - James has gone home early to help his mother with something, Peter is away for the holidays - Remus can’t help himself. 

 

Almost immediately, the fight goes in a direction he never, ever could have foreseen, no matter how many teacups he reads in Divination. After a brief back and forth, Sirius gets very pale, and says, ‘I just think of you and James differently.’

 

After all, Remus thinks, I’m a werewolf.

 

And then Sirius says, a strange sound to his voice, ‘Can I tell you a secret?’ 

 

Remus frowns. ‘Of course,’ he says. 

 

‘I mean, a really, well, a big secret.’

 

Remus raises his eyebrows. ‘I think I can be trusted…’

 

‘It’s going to change how you think of me.’ Sirius is speaking quickly now, almost manically, and not looking at Remus. 

 

‘I have some expertise in the area of life-altering secrets,’ Remus says. He has no idea where this is going. Sirius is not being cool. This is very abnormal Sirius behavior. 

 

‘I love James like a brother,’ Sirius says, and then he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Remus plaintively, uncannily like Padfoot wanting a treat.

 

‘But not me,’ Remus prompts. There is lead in his stomach. Because a werewolf can’t be a brother to a human boy. 

 

Sirius shuts his eyes for just a second in a wince. ‘It’s different, Moony,’ he says. ‘It’s… if I say it, it will be real.’

 

Remus is baffled, but decides to try to tackle this conversation head-on. ‘In my experience, not saying a thing doesn’t make it not real.’ Sirius looks up at him, eyes like wide lamps. ‘I mean, I can tell everyone I’m not a werewolf,’ Remus continues, unnerved, ‘but on the full moon…’

 

‘I think of you differently,’ Sirius says in a rush.

 

‘Not... like a brother?’ 

 

Sirius nods. 

 

‘I don’t know what you’re trying to say.’

 

Sirius takes a deep breath, steps forward, puts his hands on Remus’s shoulders, says, ‘I’m so sorry, please forgive me,’ and then leans forward and presses his lips to Remus’s. For a single, flailing moment, Remus has no response whatsoever; his brain seems to have completely shut down. Sirius does not hold the kiss for long - indeed, before Remus really registers what has just happened, he is already leaning back, oddly out of breath, his face very flushed. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says again. ‘Do you want me to go? Only I wanted you to know. This isn’t… you and James are… so very different. To me. Should I go?’

 

He is halfway to the door before Remus manages to say, ‘No.’ He doesn’t know what compels him to say it - he has never once thought of this possibility, not with Sirius or any boy for that matter - but he does not want Sirius to leave. For the next half hour, they try to have a reasonable conversation, a very adult conversation, about What This Means. It fails quickly when Remus suggests Sirius kiss him again, just to see, because after all, Sirius became an Animagus for him, and so he can certainly try this. Sirius does, for longer this time, still just his lips pressed hard against Remus’s, but Remus feels awkward about that, too close, too much time to think, so he opens his mouth very slightly and tastes Sirius’s lower lip. He really does smell nice when he’s this close, which is a weird thing to think, about a fellow boy, particularly this fellow boy. Sirius makes a little noise, and then his lips part a little, and then his tongue is on Remus’s, and Remus doesn’t think about it right now because it feels like he should just go with it. When they finally separate, Sirius is out of breath and red again, and Remus is wide eyed and utterly confused. They kiss again, longer this time, skipping the pressed lips, straight to mouths opening wider, until they are really snogging, Sirius’s hands clenched around Remus’s biceps and one of Remus’s hands tangled up in Sirius’s hair while the other one clutches at the edge of the table he is leaning up against for support. The conversation is utterly derailed. They snog for minutes at a time, until they hear the sounds of someone coming their way in the house and part, both mortified, Sirius trying to smooth down his hair while Remus wipes his mouth and wonders helplessly why he’d felt the need to muss it up so much. 

 

It is Remus’s dad. He has had a letter from James’s mum. Sirius has to return to the Potters’ at once. They are shutting down the Floo Network due to suspected terrorist activity. This news is shocking, and the implications - within a year the Floo Network is all but nonfunctional due to Death Eater attacks - are staggering, but all Remus will ever associate with this pivotal moment in the First War is his discovery of the heat and taste of Sirius’s mouth. 

 

What follows is a six-month-long series of mostly stops interspersed with a very few starts. It is a wonder, later, that either of them manage to scrape any NEWTs, let alone the many between them that they do ultimately achieve. It is a time of escalating war that bleeds over into daily life at Hogwarts and Remus remembers every milestone by where he was in his feelings towards Sirius. 

 

It becomes obvious very quickly that Sirius means this, in that unnerving Sirius way that he means all of his strong emotions: intensely, and, mind made up, without reservation. Remus is the opposite. Sirius is kind about it, pointing out that he’s been thinking of this for a long time and it’s really been sprung on Remus in a rather startling manner. The fact that Sirius is so kind about it sets off alarm bells in Remus’s brain, because, again, it signifies that Sirius means this. And perhaps because he is just seventeen years old, and a bit of an idiot, it takes Remus much too long to realise the power that he has over Sirius. 

 

Instead, he prevaricates. When they return to Hogwarts, he tells Sirius they can’t be together, and that he doesn’t feel anything for him. He knows one of those things is true - there’s no way Sirius would ultimately want to be with him. He tells himself that Sirius just does not understand what being with a werewolf would mean, and he convinces himself that the experiment is not even worth attempting, because Sirius would quickly see the error of his ways. The fact that Sirius spent years becoming an Animagus in order to specifically help him be a werewolf - a thing he continues to do loyally every month - gets willfully pushed to the back of Remus’s mind. To Sirius, he says that he won’t risk destroying their friendship. 

 

Academically, Remus sees and understands that he is making Sirius miserable. He doesn’t know how to stop. 

 

One morning after the full moon he leaves Madam Pomfrey’s and finds Sirius slumped outside the door of the Infirmary, asleep, but clearly waiting for him. He is furious - this is absolutely against the rules he laid down about how they were to treat him in order to keep his secret safe - but when he wakes Sirius, somehow that fury winds up translated to them snogging in the nearest toilets while Sirius breathlessly apologises, over and over, and Remus tries to shut him up with his mouth. Later that day, he rigidly and falsely tells Sirius no more, that this is nothing to him but something physical that is fun but that they need to stop. He tells him in a note in the middle of History of Magic. Sirius abruptly stands and leaves the classroom and they don’t see him until after dinner; Remus feels his absence for those few hours like a missing limb. Finally, he has found something that hurts more than the transformation. 

 

Months later, another morning after a full moon, and he wakes in the Infirmary. It is late in the school year now, and by the light streaming in the window, he guesses it is near six in the morning. He can tell that it has been a rough transformation. Sick to his stomach, he wonders if something bad happened. He reaches for the basin Madam Pomfrey always places on his bedside table in case he needs to retch and his hand runs into Sirius’s head. 

 

Sirius is soundly asleep, draped across the edge of his bed. This is the most unacceptable thing Sirius has ever done. Madam Pomfrey will absolutely know, now, that Sirius knows Remus is a werewolf. None of the students were ever to know. That was part of the promise to Dumbledore when he allowed Remus to come to school here. Remus wakes Sirius by vomiting into the basin. He is angry and scared enough that he doesn’t try to hide how disgusting it is, or, for that matter, that he is heaving up what appears to be most of a rabbit, bones and all, in very close proximity to Sirius’s face. It feels unspeakably awful, and cathartic, and like the most honest thing he’s ever done in this relationship. 

 

‘Moony,’ Sirius says quietly, and then his hands are under the basin, supporting it, taking it out of sight. Remus slumps back against the pillows and hears Sirius mutter a cleaning charm. 

 

‘Why are you here?’ he whispers around his raw throat. ‘What happened last night? Did I do something bad?’ 

 

‘No,’ Sirius says. He puts a cool, damp cloth on Remus’s forehead. It feels incredible. Remus wonders why he doesn’t want to die from mortification. ‘We didn’t make it last night. Filch was out in the corridors all night. I think something was happening in the school, something to do with… the war? maybe… you should have seen the map. It was going crazy with people it didn’t recognize. We just managed to make it into a broom cupboard and spent the rest of the night in there.’ His hand slides down off the cloth and touches Remus’s cheek, very lightly. ‘Peter and James went to bed once we could get out. But I knew you’d wake and not know what happened…’

 

‘Basin,’ Remus croaks. Sirius holds it for him this time, and rubs his back, too. It is so kind it makes Remus want to cry; his throat starts to close up and he panics and vomits again. 

 

It is the worst he has felt after a full moon in years; in fact in the years since the other three started coming with him most months. He can barely get out of the bed. He sends Sirius away and dresses himself very slowly but calls him back in to tie his tie; holding his arms up is excruciating. Madam Pomfrey enters, sees Sirius, says absolutely nothing, and Remus realises that she has almost certainly known that they know for years. He wonders how many other things he has deluded himself about. 

 

She asks: ‘Are you sure you want to go to class? I can get a note to your professors.’

 

Remus shakes his head. They are very close to NEWTs. He is terrified that without perfect scores, he will never be accepted for any future career. He cannot afford to miss a day. Sirius takes out most of his books and puts them in his own bag. At breakfast, he, James, and Peter all steal food off of Remus’s plate to make it look like Remus has eaten a full meal. Remus throws up twice more during the day and Sirius comes with him each time, something Remus has never before let happen. They do not discuss it, but once, after he is done and is slumped with his cheek on the toilet, his eyes closed, he reaches for Sirius’s hand and squeezes. Sirius squeezes back, and they do not let go until they have to, to leave the stall. 

 

Once classes are done for the day, Remus curls up in bed. James and Peter go to Quidditch and to see Emmeline, respectively; Sirius sits quietly on the end of Remus’s bed, reading, while Remus debates with himself. Finally, he acquiesces. 

 

‘Padfoot?’ 

 

Sirius instantly looks up from his book. ‘What do you need?’

 

Remus takes a deep breath. ‘I, uhm, well, you.’

 

Sirius hesitates, and Remus says, outwardly calm, while inside he is shaking and so, so frightened, ‘I mean it. Really. I need you.’

 

‘Remus-’

 

‘I’ve been awful,’ Remus says quietly, ‘to you. I haven’t - I should have told you. How much I care for you. I shouldn’t have tried to lie about it once I realised it. But I didn’t think you would keep meaning it if - when - you just sat down and thought about the implications.’

 

Sirius frowns. ‘I thought I made it quite clear that I didn’t care that we’re both… you know… that we’re both...’

 

Remus almost laughs; homosexuality is the last thing that has been on his mind, truly. He shakes his head. ‘I mean because I’m,’ and he doesn’t want to say it, because what if that will break the spell? It’s an absurd, powerful fear. ‘Because I’m a, a-’

 

‘Werewolf?’ Sirius asks. Grateful, Remus nods. ‘Did you think I hadn’t noticed?’ Sirius asks, but his voice is kind. 

 

‘Honestly? I was hoping you hadn’t. I was hoping that when you look at me, it’s not all that you think.’

 

Sirius’s face does something complicated. Then he says, ‘Moony, when I look at you, all I think about is you. And, and… everything that makes up you. Which includes, yes, being a werewolf. But it’s not bad. It’s just a part of you. And,’ he swallows, hard, ‘there is no part of you I don’t…’

 

Remus, scared of whatever Sirius is about to blurt, cuts him off by kissing him. ‘Do you want this?’ he asks. 

 

Sirius is grinning hugely. ‘Yes,’ he says, fervent. 

 

***

 

Of course, now that this is really happening, Remus realises that he probably needs to come to terms with the gayness of it. He’s kissed some of the girls in their year and one or two at home and always found it to be fun, so sexuality hasn’t even crossed his mind. For two weeks, they sneak off together wherever and whenever they can, but given the constant presence of James and Peter in their lives (they have agreed not to tell the other two until they no longer share a bedroom), it never has a chance to go beyond kissing. 

 

Then an opportunity comes where both James and Peter are going to be out for an evening. Determined and nervous, Remus makes himself look as good as he can, standing in front of the mirror in the washroom off their bedroom and smoothing his hair. He’s wearing his least shabby shirt and a jumper that Sirius had complimented him on recently. In the process of lamenting the dark circles under his eyes while feeling like a complete idiot, he realises that Sirius has come into the washroom - perfectly normal practice, they all share this area when getting ready for class or for bed - and is leaning up against the wall, staring at him in the mirror. 

 

‘What?’ he asks, unnerved.

 

‘Just thinking about how gorgeous you are,’ Sirius says quietly. The word sounds so posh coming out of his mouth, that first syllable elongated. Remus is new to this world of being intoxicated by Sirius and it hits him hard. He turns away from the tap and meets Sirius’s eyes. 

 

‘They’re gone for a few hours, you know,’ he says, which isn’t exactly the most romantic thing in the world, but he hopes Sirius gets it. He holds out his hands and Sirius comes to him immediately, kissing him hard.

 

‘Are you sure?’ he asks against Remus’s mouth, and Remus nods. They are the same height, and he wants some leverage, so he pushes himself up onto the counter, Sirius standing between his legs. He likes that Sirius has to tilt his head up to kiss him. Sirius puts his hands, very lightly, on Remus’s thighs, and Remus makes a little involuntary noise against his mouth. This is sexy, Sirius is sexy, and Remus isn’t sure what he wants aside from this, and more of this, with this person, right here. He wraps his legs around Sirius’s waist and pulls him closer; Sirius makes a little noise and resists for a second and then he presses tightly against him, and a moment later, he realises that Sirius has a massive hard on. 

 

‘Moony,’ Sirius says, his voice breaking a little, and Remus says, as steadily as he can, ‘Let’s go to bed.’

 

Sirius leans back and looks at him for a long moment. He is flushed, breathing hard. ‘Are you sure?’ 

 

‘James is having a team meeting, you know those go on for hours, and Peter and Emmy are probably off in some abandoned classroom doing the exact same thing…’

 

Sirius grins. ‘Good for them,’ he says, and then, ducking his head into Remus’s neck, he asks earnestly, ‘but I meant are you sure about this?’ 

 

Remus turns his face to the side and buries it in Sirius’s hair, inhaling the smell there. He imagines what it will feel like to have that scent all over him. ‘Yes.’

 

Sirius starts kissing his neck, hard, nipping kisses that include some teeth; Remus tips his head back involuntarily and runs his hands up Sirius’s back, feeling the muscles there, how tense he is as he leans into Remus, hands now tight across the top of his thighs. Sirius moves over to kiss his mouth, hard, and his hands come up and start on the buttons of Remus’s shirt and Remus panics. 

 

‘Not-’ he blurts out, and Sirius instantly stops and draws back, blinking. ‘Sorry,’ Remus says, ‘can we,’ feeling like a complete idiot, because of course Sirius wants to take his clothes off, and he wants him to - as scary as it is, he wants to feel Sirius naked, pressed up against his skin, hot and hard and - ‘Padfoot, I’m sorry,’ but the problem is that Remus is not at all comfortable in his own skin. Sometimes at home he looks at himself in the mirror and he loathes it - he is scarred in so many places, puckered lines and stranger shapes, and the mass of scar tissue on his thigh where the werewolf bit him is hideous and discoloured, like a Muggle burn victim before there was corrective surgery. He doesn’t want Sirius to see him, or more accurately to see that, this body that is his own but that doesn’t feel like it is who he is. Sirius is frowning now, hands sliding down to Remus’s sides, and Remus says, ‘This is going to sound ridiculous.’

 

‘Go on,’ Sirius prompts.

 

Remus swallows. This is (one of) the terrifying parts of this - having to be honest with Sirius. ‘I want this,’ he says, ‘so much, Sirius…’

 

Sirius looks wary. ‘But?’ 

 

‘I don’t want you to see me.’

 

Now Sirius looks mystified. ‘Why not?’

 

‘I’m all…’ He gestures at himself. ‘You know I have bite marks on my body, right?’ 

 

Sirius blinks a few times. ‘Do they hurt?’

 

‘What? No. They’re fifteen years old.’

 

‘Then what’s…’

 

‘I don’t want you to see them.’ 

 

Sirius purses his lips. ‘Moony…’

 

‘Don’t,’ Remus says, putting a finger to his mouth. ‘Don’t say something nice and noble about how you don’t care, or it won’t change how you feel, or…’

 

‘Consider it said then,’ Sirius says, and he bites Remus’s finger, but gently. ‘Because I really, really do not-’

 

‘Don’t,’ Remus repeats. ‘I just… want to have this thing without having to think about being a werewolf for once.’

 

‘Well,’ Sirius says, reaching up to take Remus’s hand and holding it while he licks and kisses and sucks on his finger, which is oh-so-very-sexy, ‘what if we turned off the lights?’

 

They wind up in Remus’s bed, which is closer to the washroom door, with all the lights off, fully underneath the heavy duvet. Even though the night is chill, it is unbearably hot, and they are frantic in taking off each other’s clothing - Sirius actually pops two buttons off of Remus’s trousers, although they don’t know it until the morning - until they are just in their briefs, all mouths and sweat and hands hovering above the waistline. They are unable to see anything of each other, which to Remus makes it more erotic, to learn each other’s bodies by touch and scent and tongue. He dips his fingers under the front of Sirius’s waistband and feels the curly hair there with the back of his fingers, and Sirius presses harder against him, his breath coming in hot, damp huffs against Remus’s shoulder. Remus wonders if it will be strange to touch someone else’s cock. Sirius’s hands find his briefs, roll down the waistband. They are perilously close to coming off now, and Remus thinks that the rub of the fabric might make him come. He’s too turned on to think about how weird it this is. Sirius slides his hands down the back of his briefs, inside, and cups Remus’s ass, hitching him closer still. Remus’s hand gets trapped between his stomach and Sirius’s body, and he twists it around uncomfortably and slides it down and there is Sirius’s cock, hot and hard and leaking. Fascinated, Remus runs his thumb over the glossy skin of the tip and Sirius gasps, ‘I can’t…’ His hands clutch Remus’s ass hard and convulsively. Remus manages to drag him just right so that he can rub their cocks together, through the fabric. Sirius is just making noise now, not words, and it turns Remus on so much that he wonders if he’s gone blind or if it is just really fucking dark in here. He manages to move his hips enough to pull down his own briefs; Sirius gets the idea and then their cocks are touching. Remus wraps his hand awkwardly around them both, jerks it upwards once, and realises that Sirius is coming. That makes him come too, his other hand leaving - though he does not know it yet - a ring of bruises around Sirius’s upper arm. 

 

Afterwards, they lie for a moment, Sirius mostly on top of Remus, legs and briefs tangled together at the knees, until Remus remembers that James and Peter will not be gone forever. The washroom has showers with curtains - four of them to be exact, which is good luck that there are only four in their year (and when they’d first arrived, there’d just been the one bath, but as they’d gotten older, the room seems to have adjusted for them) - but neither wants to be without the other. Sirius turns off the lights and Remus joins him in a dark shower where they wind up grinding together against the wall until they both come again. Remus slumps down the wall while Sirius stands with his hands against it, swaying, panting. Remus can see in the faint light the pale outline of Sirius’s calves. He leans forward and holds onto them. Then they hear a noise in the other room and Sirius jumps so far that he kicks Remus in the nose. He has run into another stall and turned on the tap while Remus tilts his head back to stop the bleeding when James enters the room.

 

‘Padfoot? Moony?’

 

‘Prongs,’ Sirius says; Remus hopes that James will be oblivious to the strangled sound of his voice. 

 

‘Why are you both showering?’ 

 

‘We were testing something,’ Remus says. ‘Got soaked in pus.’

 

‘... why are you showering in the dark?’

 

‘It was an emergency situation.’

 

James flicks on the lights. Remus is behind the closed curtain. He manages to stand on shaking legs and clutches at the soap dish for support. His nosebleed is slowing. James tells them an inane story about Quidditch that Remus has a great deal of trouble following, because his brain is fixated on Sirius. He has to go to bed under his sweaty duvet with all of his and Sirius’s clothing still tangled in it, because James is talking about something or other and Sirius is talking back but Remus, well, he looks across at Sirius, sitting on his bed, his dark hair wet and dangling around his face - and Remus is completely lost. 

 

***

 

But never did the course of love fly smooth or some other mixed, vaguely Shakespearean metaphor, as Remus knows, and he can tell that he has fucked it up from the start by changing his mind repeatedly over the last six months. Sirius is wary of everything he says, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Remus clumsily feels his way to deciding that he has to make some grand romantic gesture to prove his commitment to Sirius. 

 

They sit their NEWTs - Remus feels, cautiously, that he has probably done well on most of them, somehow, despite - and their final Hogsmeade day of their final year of school looms. Peter and Emmy are planning to spend it together, and Remus’s plan requires Sirius and him to do the same - but he doubts that Sirius will abandon James. He considers making James indisposed - giving him something to make him ill, or faint - but that seems unnecessarily cruel given that it is their last Hogsmeade trip ever. 

 

The night before Hogsmeade day is also the final day of NEWTs; although some people have finished in the days before, Potions is on that final Friday. Everyone leaves it giddy with exhaustion, but after dinner, they manage to pull themselves together. James and Sirius appear with mysterious bottles of firewhisky and Gryffindor Tower rapidly devolves into a drunk bacchanal. In the waning summer light, Remus finds himself lying on the floor of the common room, listening to his peers range from utterly munted to, like himself, pleasantly tipsy. Sirius is in the center of it - with James - commanding attention from everyone with their easy banter. Lily is off to the side, watching them, a little smile on her face, and Remus has sudden inspiration.

 

He stands up, sways a little, dodges a flaming Fanged Frisbee, dodges the fourth year who he really wishes Sirius hadn’t let drink, dodges a chair that seems determined to trip him, and finds himself beside Lily. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow as he leans against the wall beside her. 

 

‘Should we tell anyone off?’ she asks him. ‘I think we are still, technically, prefects.’

 

‘Will it make you happy?’ Remus asks. 

 

She grins. ‘Probably not.’ 

 

‘I mean,’ Remus says, thinking yes, the perfect segue, ‘James and Sirius have really been very good all year.’

 

Lily bursts into startled laughter. ‘What??’

 

‘After you told them off for being rude to Severus,’ Remus says, ‘they have left him alone.’ He doesn’t add that they have left him alone because a year ago Sirius nearly killed him and Remus threatened to never speak to him again over it. He is just presenting two facts, one: that Lily told them off for being rude to Severus; and two: that they have, for the most part, stopped acknowledging his existence. His implied thesis is that these facts occurred one after the other and therefore might be inferred to be linked by causality. 

 

Lily has her face screwed up comically as she thinks about it. ‘I guess you’re right… aside from a few fights that I think were his fault rather than theirs…’

 

Remus nods. ‘They listened to you. Well,’ and here comes the real massage of the truth, ‘I should say that James listened to you. And Sirius listened to James.’ 

 

‘Did he?’ Lily asks. ‘Hmm.’

 

‘You should give him a chance,’ Remus suggests. 

 

‘Don’t you start too,’ Lily says. ‘Everyone says I should.’

 

‘He’s been pining after you for seven years.’

 

‘That’s kind of creepy. And not really a reason to give him a chance.’

 

Remus looks across the room; James has now tackled Sirius into a sofa. There are lots of limbs flying around. He wonders if he should save Sirius but decides that it would probably be misinterpreted - or, rather, very correctly interpreted in a way that he would prefer it not be. Sirius’s head emerges, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, and Remus temporarily forgets the conversation and thinks about sex. 

 

‘I mean,’ Lily says, startling him back to reality, ‘what would giving James a chance even look like?’

 

It is the first time that Lily has ever sounded unsure about this, at least in Remus’s hearing, and he knows her well. He looks at her and she is looking at James, a strange look on her face. It’s almost like - well, almost like she can see something there.

 

Remus’s heart starts beating faster at the thought, which is strangely hilarious, and a sign of how in-tune they are as friends. He tries to imagine James doing the same for him if he’d heard that Sirius fancied him. Probably not. ‘You could ask him to Hogsmeade tomorrow,’ he suggests, and in his head he thinks, I am the motherfucking chessmaster. ‘It is your last chance,’ he adds when she doesn’t reply.

 

‘I could,’ she says slowly. ‘It is my last chance…’ She glances at him. ‘Is this a bad idea?’

 

‘Honestly?’ Remus asks. She nods. He thinks about it, looking back at the two of them in the center of the room. Other people are standing around yelling things, passing galleons back and forth in a betting manner. Sirius is sneaking up behind James while he bargains with someone, scarf ready to sling around James’s neck. Remus tries to imagine what James will say, or do, if Lily asks him on a date. ‘Honestly, I think that he will be so terrified of the whole thing that he’ll barely be able to speak. I think you’ll have one drink and conclude that it was very boring and go on with your life, curiosity satisfied.’

 

Lily laughs, brightly, and says, ‘You’ve convinced me, love.’ She pushes herself off from the wall and strides into the center of the room; Remus follows her and perches on the side of the sofa where Sirius is now enthusiastically trying to strangle James while several others yell encouragement. 

 

‘James Potter,’ Lily says. Sirius stops strangling him immediately. James, hands clenched around the scarf at his neck, looks up at her, eyes widening. Sirius drops the scarf and James scrambles to sit up. He kicks over the bottle of firewhisky and Sirius rights it with his wand. It is clear that James does not notice. 

 

‘Yes?’ he asks, voice husky, presumably not just from the recent assault on his neck. 

 

Without hesitation, Lily asks, ‘Would you go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?’

 

The entire common room falls silent, but it is one of the most ringing silences that Remus has ever heard. People are genuinely gawking. This is James’s great love story, his unrequited quest, and every person in the room knows it. James audibly gulps.

 

‘He’d love to,’ Sirius says. ‘Ten o’clock? Here in the common room?’

 

‘Ten fifteen,’ Lily says. 

 

‘Wonderful,’ Sirius replies. ‘He’ll see you there.’ 

 

Lily grins at Remus and disappears into a corner where she is immediately surrounded by girls. James stands up, almost trips over the sofa, and says, ‘Um…’

 

‘Upstairs,’ Sirius suggests, looking at James, and then at Remus. 

 

‘I’ll find Peter,’ Remus says.

 

Peter and Emmy are where he knew he’d find them, in a particular unlocked room that is known, as far as he knows, only to them. He knocks on the door and hears a lot of noise behind it; then Peter appears at the door, concern on his face. 

 

‘Remus?’ 

 

‘We have a situation,’ Remus says, trying to convey meaning with his eyes. ‘Lily just asked James to Hogsmeade.’

 

Emmy appears at Peter’s side, smoothing down her shirt. ‘What?’ she gasps.

 

‘Did James freeze up?’

 

‘Sirius had to reply for him.’

 

‘Oh god.’

 

‘Yeah. Strategy session, upstairs.’

 

‘Go,’ Emmy says, faux-dramatically. ‘James needs you.’

 

Upstairs in their room, Remus and Peter burst in on James pacing. Sirius is sitting on the end of his bed. 

 

‘Everything is going to be fine,’ Sirius is saying, in the kind of soothing voice one might use on a small child who has fallen and is debating whether or not to break into screams. ‘Just take some deep breaths.’

 

‘Why did she ask me?’ James demands. ‘Why? Why would she do that?’

 

‘Maybe she fancies you,’ Peter suggests, flopping down onto the end of James’ bed beside Sirius. 

 

‘No,’ James says. 

 

‘Probably not,’ Sirius agrees.

 

‘But maybe,’ Remus says, remembering that look on her face. 

 

‘Why now?’ James asks. His face is ashen. ‘It’s the last moment possible.’

 

‘Maybe she didn’t want to have any regrets when she leaves,’ Remus says.

 

‘No missed opportunities,’ Sirius agrees. He pats the bed beside him and looks meaningfully at Remus, who joins him, sitting just a smidge too close, their legs pressed together. 

 

‘I can’t do it,’ James announces. ‘I think I’m going to vomit now, what about tomorrow morning?’

 

‘Of course you can do it,’ Sirius says, again in that soothing voice. ‘We all believe in you.’ He nudges Remus.

 

‘Yes, we do,’ Remus says, and Peter echoes him. 

 

Whatever they believe, James is an utter shambles by morning. It is clear he has not slept. Sirius presents him with several small slips of parchment on which he has written conversational suggestions and convinces him to put on trousers; Remus gets him to shave and it is Peter who ultimately coaxes him out the door and down to the common room. He is early, but Lily is there, dressed spectacularly in a pale yellow summer dress of the Muggle style, long legs bare and slung over the side of the chair she’s sitting in, the skirt riding up her pale thighs; she is reading a book with a rather too-casual air. James seems to lose some of his ability to be mobile upon seeing her and needs a shove from Sirius to move forward; Remus thinks it is a testament to how homosexual Sirius is that he isn’t fazed at all by Lily. 

 

‘Shall we all walk into town together?’ Peter asks. ‘I told Emmy I’d meet her in the hall.’

 

Remus is scheming how best to separate Sirius from the others, and desperately hopes that they are not going to be trapped into playing the dutiful friends at Madam Puddifoot’s all day. The place is a horror of pink and cheaply manufactured romance and he wants Sirius somewhere else altogether. He tries to get him to make eye contact, but Sirius is watching James with concern. James has not yet said a word to Lily.

 

‘Sounds wonderful,’ Lily says graciously, giving Remus her own meaningful look. ‘I adore Emmy.’

 

The day is shockingly warm, almost hot, and as they walk past the lake on their way to the path to town, Lily peels off her jumper. Even as committed as he is to Sirius, Remus has to admit that her breasts look spectacular. Remus sees James shut his eyes for a second and sort of sway in place until Sirius gives him another shove. He starts to have real concerns that he will not be able to get Sirius alone. Emmy and Lily are talking, brightly, and Peter and Remus join in, while Sirius seems to be muttering a nonstop chain of encouragement in James’s ear. As they get close to the town, nearly past the Forbidden Forest, Remus reaches behind James’s back and touches Sirius’s hand. Sirius falls back a little, as does Remus. 

 

‘Those four can probably go off on their own, don’t you think?’ Remus says quietly. 

 

Sirius glances at James and grins. ‘I’m not sure they can, you know.’

 

‘I’d really like for us to go off on our own,’ Remus says, more quietly still. ‘I have something I want to, well, to show you.’

 

Sirius’s face goes still; this is his attentive canine expression. Remus’s body thrills to it. Then Sirius nods. ‘Where?’

 

‘Shrieking Shack, I was thinking,’ Remus says.

 

‘Ok.’

 

James is looking back at them; Lily is looking back at him; and Peter and Emmy are starting to pull away, hand in hand, the picture of a happy couple heading off on a carefree date. 

 

‘Go on,’ Sirius says to James. ‘We’ll meet up with you later.’

 

‘Where are you going?’ James asks, plaintive. 

 

‘Not on your date,’ Remus says. 

 

‘We will meet up with you later,’ Sirius repeats. He waves his hands. ‘Now, shoo.’

 

James gives them a last, doomed look, before turning back to Lily and saying, a bit too loudly, ‘So, this weather. Nice?’

 

Remus’s heart starts pounding. It sounds very loud in his chest in the still summer air. He and Sirius stand side by side, watching James and Lily’s figures dwindle as they walk up the road. Remus is suddenly very unsure about what he’s decided to do. Too soppy? Too stupid? Too terrible? This had all seemed brilliant when he was drunk last night but now it seems like the worst idea he’s ever had. Sirius is looking at him expectantly. He swallows and says, ‘Shack?’

 

They set off through the forest. They know their way well, better than anyone save maybe the groundskeeper, Hagrid. Once they are deep in dense foliage and away from the road, Sirius reaches for Remus’s hand. 

 

‘What is this about?’ he asks. He sounds nervous.

 

‘I want to show you something,’ Remus repeats, while frantically trying to think of something, anything else that he could show Sirius that would warrant this level of secrecy, so that he has an escape plan if he can’t go through with it. ‘I think you’ll like it, hopefully,’ he adds, somewhat lamely, but Sirius looks reassured.

 

‘I’m sure I will.’

 

They have to crawl in through the hole under the floorboards of the porch to get into the Shack - a tight feat they have never done as humans. It requires a tremendous amount of wriggling. Once inside, brushing dirt and cobwebs off his shirt, Remus starts feeling panicky. He takes Sirius’s hand and realises that his own is sweating. He feels clammy and dirty. He hopes he doesn’t look it but is certain that he does. 

 

‘Upstairs?’ Sirius suggests, sounding hopeful. ‘Or…?’

 

Remus nods. Still holding hands, they ascend the rickety staircase. At the top, he leads Sirius into the main bedroom - the one with the four-poster. Madam Pomfrey sees to it every month that it is clean, with fresh sheets. Remus feels a flash of guilt about what he’s planning to do to them.

 

‘It’s dark in here,’ Sirius says softly, and, Remus thinks, suggestively. Swallowing hard, he walks to the window and opens the heavy curtains. Hazy, golden summer light floods into the room, catching dust motes as they drift. He turns to Sirius, who is watching him, wary again, frowning slightly. 

 

‘Will you sit down?’ Remus asks. Sirius steps back and sits on the edge of the bed. 

 

Remus swallows. His mouth is dry, presumably because he is sweating so much everywhere else. His hands are shaking and his stomach is roiling around like a ship in the stormiest of seas. He thinks for a second that he might be sick. 

 

Sirius is watching him, clearly concerned. ‘Moony, are you breaking up with me?’ 

 

‘No,’ Remus says, startled. ‘Is that what this seems like?’

 

‘I…’ Sirius looks at the window. ‘You opened the curtains. That seems… not to be a prick but… isn’t that a no?’ 

 

‘I wanted you to, uhm, I want to show you something,’ Remus says, feeling sorry. He tries to keep his voice steady. ‘Something I’ve never shown anyone before.’ He swallows. ‘Sirius, I want you to know, uhm,’ god this is very sentimental, ‘that, uhm, I… you’re very important to me. And that I’m actually not planning to break up with you anytime, uhm, anytime soon. Or, you know, I don’t have any plans to do that, in the future. Even though we’re going to be leaving school very soon, and things are going to change a lot, but, I’d like us to stay, uhm…’ He knows he is babbling, but he seems to be getting somewhere...

 

‘Moony…’

 

‘And to prove it to you, to show you how much I, I mean this, I want you to,’ Remus takes a deep breath, ‘to know this. To see this.’ His hands are shaking so much that when he raises them to his collar, he fumbles with the button before he gets it undone. He has to consciously move on to the next. He can’t look at Sirius. He’s not sure he’s ever been this terrified in his life, and he was sent to Professor Dumbledore’s office for dueling as a first year. He gets the first one undone, and moves his hands down to the next. 

 

Sirius is suddenly standing in front of him. He cups his face and kisses him. Remus resists. 

 

‘Sirius, if you stop me now, I won’t…’

 

Sirius takes his hands and says, ‘Let me do it, then.’ 

 

Remus swallows but doesn’t object. Sirius all but rips the rest open, slides his hands around Remus’s body - he is still wearing a white vest - and shoves the shirt off. He runs his hands up Remus’s chest and asks, ‘Vest or trousers?’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Which first?’ 

 

His hands are roaming everywhere. Desire, hot and urgent, is eating away at the terror Remus feels but the question throws him into chaos again. ‘Vest,’ he manages. Trousers will be much worse. Sirius puts his hands under the thin fabric and slides it up and over his head, leaving it over his face. Remus flails as Sirius leans forward and starts kissing his chest.

 

‘Padfoot - what the - take this -’ He manages to extricate himself, letting it fall to the floor, just as Sirius gets his teeth around one of his nipples. 

 

‘Thought I’d distract you,’ Sirius says, surfacing for a second, before returning to the task. His mouth is fire and his teeth are sharp. Remus yelps and grabs Sirius’s shoulders, hard. The teeth stop and are replaced by a hot, rough tongue. 

 

‘Oh, god,’ Remus manages to say, before he feels Sirius’s hands on his belt. He freezes. 

 

Sirius murmurs against his chest, ‘Why is this scary?’ Remus doesn’t respond. Sirius straightens up and puts his hand over Remus’s heart, which is so loud that Remus is certain Sirius can hear it too. ‘Moony,’ Sirius whispers, imploring.

 

‘You’ll see,’ Remus says. He puts his hands on Sirius’s. ‘Just, I… if it changes your mind, it’s all right. I’ll understand.’

 

Sirius gives him a solemn look. ‘You know it won’t.’

 

‘Just, be honest with me. Please.’ Remus realises what he is truly frightened of: not rejection - he expects that - but that Sirius would lie and say it was ok when it wasn’t. ‘Promise me, Padfoot.’

 

‘I promise.’ 

 

Remus makes a conscious decision to trust him. It is so, so scary. He lets go of Sirius’s hands. Sirius makes quick work of the belt and then takes a deep breath. Remus takes one too. ‘You don’t have to…’

 

‘Moony, you have no idea. I have been fantasising about, uhm,’ Sirius starts to turn very red, ‘your, uhm,’ he ducks his head and mumbles, ‘your…’

 

Remus bursts into startled laughter. ‘Really?’ Sirius raises his gaze and Remus stops laughing instantly. He puts his hand on Sirius’s cheek and asks again, much more softly, ‘Really?’ 

 

‘Really.’ Sirius’s hands are shaking now too; Remus can feel them against his stomach. He undoes the buttons at his waist and fly and - Remus’s stomach swoops - takes them by the belt loops and tugs them down so that they crumple around Remus’s feet. Before Remus can kick them aside, Sirius drops to his knees and tugs them off from around his calves and feet. Remus steadies himself on Sirius’s shoulders and then realises where, exactly, Sirius’s face is just as Sirius buries his nose into the fabric of his briefs at the hot junction between his thigh and groin. Remus takes a deep breath as Sirius does too. Sirius’s hands come up and stroke once down his sides, where his right hand runs over the mass of scar tissue on Remus’s left thigh. Remus freezes and Sirius leans back. 

 

‘I’m very torn,’ he says quietly. 

 

Remus’s heart stutters and his palms instantly break out into a sweat. ‘Why?’

 

‘I’m so, so into you,’ Sirius says, looking up at him, ‘but I feel like I would really be bang out of line if I didn’t have a conversation with you right now.’

 

‘A conversation?’ Remus asks, a little hysterically. Sirius is hovering about his cock, breathing, and it is not helping his mental state.

 

‘This is important,’ Sirius says fiercely. He pushes himself up off his knees and sits on the bed. Remus is incredibly aware that Sirius is fully clothed and he is wearing nothing but his briefs; Sirius is now surveying him the way he thought he would have at first, doubtless taking in every imperfection and mark on his body. He sees Sirius’s eyes land on the his original bite scar and he tries to steel himself for whatever Sirius will say. 

 

Preemptively, he says, ‘People have been telling me that I’m a horrible monster my whole life, Sirius.’

 

‘I see you,’ is what Sirius says, which is not what he was expecting and doesn’t really seem to be a response to what he said. ‘I think you’re - really, Remus - I think you’re so, so gorgeous.’ He stands up and comes to him again, runs his hands over his body slowly, gently, seemingly wonderingly. ‘I’ve wanted to see you like this for a long time.’ He puts his hands into the waistband of Remus’s briefs and meets his eyes. ‘And you’re letting me. This is - this feels - so very important.’ He touches the bite scar again, gentle. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

 

Remus feels a strange kind of peace wash over him. ‘I’ve never told anyone the story before,’ he says quietly. ‘Well, my parents know some of it. But not all of it.’

 

‘I want you to tell me,’ Sirius says. ‘I want to know every single thing there is to know about you, Remus Lupin.’

 

Remus looks directly at him. ‘Right now?’

 

‘I’d like that.’ 

 

‘It’s not sexy.’

 

‘I wasn’t expecting it to be.’ Sirius frowns. ‘I can’t really describe it. It sounds weird. Maybe a bit, uhm, creepy. I just know that I want to, to know everything about you that I can.’ He runs his hand down Remus’s cheek. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’

 

Remus finds that it is all right if he just keeps looking into Sirius’s pale eyes. ‘I wanted a pet dog,’ he says. Sirius blinks. Remus does not have to take a moment to put his thoughts in order because he has told himself this story many times; he knows how it goes. It is his creation myth. ‘We lived in a tiny flat at the time, and we couldn’t have one. I begged and begged, but we just couldn’t have one. One night, I was asleep, but I heard something outside my window. My parents didn’t know that I had watched them when they opened the window and I knew how to do it. I saw a - I thought it was a dog - out in the garden. It was huge. I wanted to meet it. I had a whole scheme in my head about what I’d tell them, how I’d found it and it needed a home. I opened the window and got outside. It wasn’t a dog, obviously. It grabbed me by the leg - it bit me there, it grabbed me with its teeth - and was shaking me and I guess I screamed, or there was noise, or something, because my father ran out and chased it off. It - no one ever caught it. I’m not sure if anyone even looked for it. But it was right at dawn and my body didn’t have time to transform that night, so I was able to heal a full month before I had to deal with that. That’s probably why I survived. In small children, it’s that first transformation combined with the bite that usually kills them.’ Remus shrugs at the horrified look on Sirius’s face. ‘Don’t be sad about it. It was a long time ago.’

 

‘Did it hurt?’

 

Remus thinks of Sirius saying that he wants to know everything about him. Once again, he chooses to trust him. ‘Yes. My parents think I passed out almost immediately from the pain but I didn’t. Don’t ever tell them that, by the way, please. I remember it quite clearly. But, honestly, it didn’t hurt as badly as a usual transformation does.’ 

 

Sirius reaches out and hugs him very tightly. They stand together just breathing for a long time. Sirius’s face against Remus’s is wet. Remus reaches up to stroke his hair. ‘I’ll be your pet dog,’ Sirius mumbles against his neck. 

 

Remus wants to cry too. ‘I know,’ he says, trying to make a joke of it. After a minute, Sirius leans back to look at him, smiling faintly, and Remus asks, ‘Can I take your clothes off too?’ 

 

‘No,’ Sirius says. ‘Not yet. First I get to take these -’ he runs his finger around the inside of Remus’s briefs ‘off of you.’ 

 

Remus looks at him for a long moment. ‘Are you certain?’ he asks. ‘Really, really certain?’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius breathes, and he slides them down. Remus shoves him lightly onto the bed - Sirius does not even pretend to resist - and, desperately trying not to be self conscious, climbs on top of him, kicking away his briefs as he goes. Pressed together, kissing frantically, he can feel Sirius’s cock through his trousers, shoving into his leg. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever felt and he is suddenly so fucking hard. Sirius grabs him by the thighs and his hand goes right around his scar like it’s not even there. He drags him up his chest so that Remus is propped on his elbows and takes Remus’s cock in one hand and says, ‘Oh, Moony,’ before leaning forward to run his tongue over the head. Remus’s vision blurs for a second and he moves, with Sirius’s guidance, so that he can slide his cock into the hot, wet space of Sirius’s mouth. He can’t help but lean into him, into that burning heat and Sirius’s tongue, which is pushing hard into the underside of his cock, just below the head. Sirius takes it for a moment and then makes a muffled noise and pushes at his chest with his free hand. Remus pulls back, worried. 

 

‘Too much?’ he asks, leaning on one arm and running his free hand down Sirius’s face. 

 

‘Yeah,’ Sirius says, wincing. ‘Sorry. I’ve never…’ 

 

‘Of course,’ Remus says, mortified. ‘No, no, don’t apologize, I got carried away, it just felt so good…’

 

‘Did it?’ Sirius mumbles and Remus says, ‘Yes,’ so fervently that they both laugh. 

 

‘What if I was on top?’ Sirius suggests. ‘Then I could control…’

 

‘Yeah,’ Remus agrees. He doesn’t move; instead he starts unbuttoning Sirius’s shirt. Together, they get his clothes off, until they are naked, side by side, pressed into each other. Remus runs his fingers down Sirius’s body, from his collarbone to his thigh, and looks at them, intertwined on the white sheets. Sirius is perfect, of course, all lean muscle and unmarred skin, but there’s something about the contrast. It’s intoxicating to look at their bodies wrapped around each other. Sirius presses into him and moans. 

 

‘This is what the Yule Ball must feel like for the girls,’ Remus murmurs, pressing back, and Sirius giggles and grinds into Remus’s hard on and says, ‘Fuck, I wish I was one of them then.’

 

‘I don’t wish you were,’ Remus says. He kisses his mouth - and thinks with a thrill that this is the mouth that recently was occupied with sucking him off - and says, ‘No, I very much prefer you like this.’ 

 

Sirius reaches down and grasps Remus’s cock; Remus rolls onto his back and Sirius slithers down his body, nipping and sucking at every available bit of skin. Remus tries to calm down, to stop rolling his hips upward, but it’s so hard, everything is so fucking hard… 

 

‘Hey Remus?’

 

‘Mmhm?’

 

‘Can you maybe just, uhm, give me some advice? Or tell me how I’m doing?’

 

Remus can barely think. ‘You’re doing great?’ 

 

Sirius props himself on his elbows on either side of Remus’s legs. He looks exasperated. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

 

‘You’re torturing me,’ Remus suggests.

 

Sirius takes a deep breath and wraps one hand around Remus’s cock, which is so hard that even this light touch makes Remus whimper. Sirius leans forward and puts his lips around the head; slowly, agonisingly, he slides down, taking more and more of him into his mouth. Remus winds his fingers into Sirius’s hair and tries to ride it out rather than thrust, but god, he wants to thrust. He wants to yank Sirius’s hair until his mouth is bruised, he wants to come all over him and see and feel the marks he leaves on his body, and he doesn’t know where these thoughts are coming from because he has never even considered them and they’re fucked up and maybe he’s an awful person, but maybe Sirius would like it… 

 

‘Remus,’ Sirius says, coming up for air - Remus whines in frustration as his cock is exposed to the cold - ‘tell me what to do. Guide me here.’ 

 

Remus winds his fingers into Sirius’s hair and moves him, not quite as gently as he knows he should, back down to his cock. Sirius makes an unreadable panting noise. ‘Am I hurting you?’ 

 

‘Fuck, Moony, keep doing what you’re doing,’ Sirius gasps. Remus takes the invitation and lightly pushes his head down. 

 

‘Padfoot, I want…’

 

Sirius’s tongue and mouth and hand are there, and Remus thrusts, tries to stop himself - Sirius makes a startled yelp, but doesn’t stop - Remus tugs his hair and Sirius’s free hand clenches around his thigh in an iron grip and holds him down - Remus gasps, because he loves this, how strong Sirius is - ‘Fuck, Padfoot, fuck,’ is all he manages now, a steady stream of unwarranted profanities, and Sirius holds him down harder and sucks harder and faster and Remus starts getting dots in his vision and shuts his eyes and writhes around, grabbing at the edge of the bed with his free hand, bunching the sheets until he can’t take it anymore, and then he tries to warn him, he gasps in one long stream, ‘Sirius Padfoot Sirius I’m going to come I’m going to come so fucking hard I’m going to-’ he’s on the edge of it and then abruptly he is falling, his entire body pulsing. 

 

He rides the orgasm for what feels like an impossibly long time and then flops backwards into the mattress. Sirius has his head buried in his groin and is breathing hard, each breath huffing across Remus’s stomach. Remus becomes slowly aware that they are both sweaty and sticky. 

 

‘Padfoot,’ he mutters, trying to drag him up to his chest, and after a second’s hesitation, Sirius obeys. ‘I should,’ Remus tries for coherent thought, ‘you must be, well, I should-’

 

‘I came,’ Sirius mumbles. ‘When you… I was… I mean, I was rubbing against your leg and…’ 

 

Remus understands now why he feels so sticky. ‘Are you… was that…’

 

‘You made me come by watching you come,’ Sirius says, his voice oddly flat. Remus looks at him; his pupils are blown wide and he looks stunned. ‘I didn’t know it could be that good, Moony.’

 

‘Me either,’ Remus says, stunned himself at how good this feels. ‘Really. I can’t even describe…’ 

 

They lie there, touching everywhere they can, chests slowly returning to normal breathing levels. The light in the room is golden on their skin. Sirius strokes Remus’s side and kisses him slowly, sloppily. 

 

Later, they will go down to Madam Puddifoots’ to meet the others and find out that James and Lily have - after a disastrous start with some scraps of parchment covered in Sirius’s handwriting - hit it off swimmingly whilst Peter and Emmy spy on them from behind a mound of tea cakes. They will hold hands under the table they share with Peter and Emmy and try their hardest not to just sit and gaze at each other and Sirius will buy him a gin and tonic with the poshest gin in the place and Remus will wonder if it is obvious to everyone that they are fucking, because he certainly feels like he is glowing. 

 

Right now, though, Sirius leans into him, perfect and young and the sexiest thing Remus has ever seen. He brings his mouth to Remus’s ear, and his breath is hot and makes Remus stiffen again. 

 

Sirius whispers for the first time, ‘Moony, I love you.’ 

 

***  
But no matter how much Sirius loves him, there is no escaping that Remus is a werewolf. 

 

There is the grinding and scraping for any money at all beyond his meagre student stipends and scholarships once he leaves school, all the doors closed in his face or contracts terminated after the first full moon. 

 

There is the fellow student on his course at Oxford who tells everyone that he was admitted not for his NEWTs but because ‘they had to let someone like you on to a programme about Dark Creatures.’

 

There is the professor who congratulates him for an academic prize by saying, ‘Remarkable that you were able to keep up with the other students.’ 

 

There is an attractive young woman who is his student when he, as a doctoral candidate at UCL, is teaching a course about Dark Creatures, who approaches him in his office. He tells her that he is taken. She is shocked - ‘You found another werewolf?’

 

There is the time Remus is looking down at his feet in Diagon Alley, scuffed Doc Martens crunching through hard-packed snow turned to ice, trying not to fall as he navigates his way up the sidewalk, when a tall man shoves him, hard, into a shop window and says, ‘The Dark Lord doesn’t take kindly to Dark Creatures out in public.’ 

 

There is another professor, this one already doing him down for his shabby clothing and working class Welsh accent, who tells him that they shouldn’t have let ‘his kind’ into university, and that when the Dark Lord is in power, they won’t anymore. 

 

There is the healer at St Mungo’s who refuses to even see him after he is injured by a Death Eater because he, ‘Doesn’t know a thing about how a werewolf might respond to treatment.’

 

There is the aunt at his father’s funeral who tells him that this is his fault, that he brought ruin upon his father’s life.

 

After Sirius is in Azkaban, it is somehow both worse and better - worse because without Sirius, everything is worse, but better, because he doesn’t have to play it down to temper Sirius’s furious response. 

 

By the time Sirius is back, though, Remus has been worn down by anti-werewolf sentiment, and Sirius’s righteous fury feels good. When he writes to Sirius - currently hiding in the tropics - to tell him about Dolores Umbridge and her new law that makes it much more difficult for him to get a job, the blast of Sirius’s anger coming off the pages of his reply thaws out a place in Remus that he had forgotten he has. He remembers how idealistic he was, starting out at Oxford just months after leaving Hogwarts, on a scholarship, doing research on Dark Creatures and convinced that he would change the world. He’s not sure if he’s bitter about how things have turned out or not. He’s going to wait and see.


	19. The Creation of Remus Lupin, Werewolf, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really Part 2 of the previous chapter, just added as a separate chapter due to length. Hence the rather abrupt transition to start it.

Remus knows Sirius. He knows how much he loathes authority, and how much he likes to have a little rebellion, and he sees how it is killing him to be inside this house, and he also understands that Mundungus is useful to the Order. 

 

But right now, Remus is furious. 

 

‘He left watching Harry to engage in some illegal activities?’ he snaps. ‘And you’re going to forgive him?’

 

‘What can you expect from him?’ Sirius snaps back. ‘We know what kind of a man he is. Frankly, this is on Dumbledore for assigning him that job.’

 

There’s the root of it: Dumbledore. Sirius has two kinds of anger, one a fast flare that burns bright but quick. Remus knows how to manage that, as he has often been on the receiving end of it. The second kind is much worse: a kind of cold, haughty loathing that never fails to remind Remus that Sirius is an aristocrat, raised with every privilege, and the entitlement to an absolute opinion of others that it entails. Dumbledore has confined him to this house, and he seems intent upon truly hating him for it. 

 

It’s a tricky situation for Remus. He doesn’t exactly agree with Albus, but it is clear to him that Sirius is a liability right now. Remus loves Sirius more than he would have ever guessed it was possible to love anyone, loves him to the point of it being painful, to the point of waking up in the middle of the night at least once a week and involuntarily reaching for him, terrified that he will be gone again, but he is also a clear-eyed pragmatist. Sirius was always reckless. Azkaban stripped away any caution he’d ever had and made him even more of a live wire. 

 

‘Albus assigned him the job because there’s not that many of us in the Order,’ Remus says now. ‘But I don’t want to be fighting alongside someone so unreliable.’

 

Sirius rolls his eyes like a petulant child. Remus considers slapping him. When they had been boys, long before either had considered a different kind of relationship, they had, roughly every six months, gotten into a massive fight. They’d fought with each other and with James and Peter, and especially when they were very young, those fights had sometimes turned physical, either with hexes or with fists. As they grew up, their fights had changed; between the two of them, they’d developed a particular frisson. Remus used to love fighting with Sirius just to break through his cool facade, because he knew that Sirius would always apologize first. Later, he realised just how emotionally manipulative that was, and nowadays does - almost always - stop himself before it gets too divisive. Now, though…

 

‘Sirius, either talk to him about the illegal activities or I will go to Albus,’ he says. He stands up and sees the flicker of concern on Sirius’s face. Good.

 

‘Where are you off to?’

 

Remus considers saying, ‘Out of this house,’ which is where he would like to go right now but which would be too cruel. ‘Upstairs,’ he says, instead, and leaves the room. Sirius follows him a moment later, just as he knew he would, and he hates himself for feeling triumphant. 

 

‘Sorry, Moony,’ Sirius says gruffly. ‘I know - believe me, I really do know - how difficult I am.’ The look on Remus’s face must betray what a spectacular understatement this is, because Sirius hesitates, and then says, ‘Anyway, you wanted to be alone, so I’ll leave you to it.’ He turns around sharply and departs back down the stairs to the kitchen. 

 

Remus is left in the hallway staring at the dark space he disappeared down, utterly shocked. Sirius has never once walked away from a fight between them. He remembers desperately trying to just have a moment of peace during a serious row in their old flat in London and Sirius following him, seemingly unable to stop himself, until Remus had yelled, ‘I’m trying to walk away from this argument, not change its venue to another room!’ He doesn’t remember Sirius’s response but he can guarantee it wasn’t de-escalation. 

 

Cautiously, Remus follows him and finds Sirius standing in front of the fire, hands clenched into fists at his sides, staring into the flames so intently that he doesn’t notice Remus until he says, ‘Padfoot.’ 

 

Sirius turns away from the fire; his eyes are dark. ‘Moony,’ he says calmly, ‘it’s perfectly reasonable to not want to be trapped in here with me. Why don’t you go for a walk in the park or something?’

 

Remus thinks it isn’t fair that he’s just realised how much it would break his heart for Sirius to give up like this. He shakes his head. ‘There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you,’ he says, and as sentimental as it sounds, it’s true. ‘Even if it means I’m in here.’ Sirius looks at him, screwing up his mouth in a way Remus knows means he’s trying not to cry. ‘Listen,’ Remus says, suddenly feeling reckless. ‘Let’s both go for a walk in the park.’ 

 

Sirius blinks at him. ‘Remus -’

 

‘You as a dog,’ Remus says. ‘I’ll even go buy a leash if we need to,’ he adds, and raises his eyebrow in what he hopes is comic lasciviousness. 

 

Sirius swallows. ‘Really?’

 

‘Really.’

 

They get up the stairs and are in the foyer before Remus notices how reluctant Sirius is. ‘We’re supposed to be the contact point for the Order,’ he says. ‘I am.’ He stops walking and says helplessly, ‘Moony.’ 

 

Remus reaches for his hands. ‘Padfoot, please,’ he says, not giving a fuck about the Order in that moment, just wanting to do anything to make Sirius happy. 

 

To avoid using too much magic, they take the tube - Remus and his big black dog, who makes an entire car laugh at his antics of trying to be a lapdog despite being enormous, while Remus grins and wraps his arms around him and buries his face in the soft fur behind his ears to inhale his doggy smell. They get out on Primrose Hill and Sirius runs and runs while Remus sits on a park bench, watching him, quietly content. When they get back to the house, Sirius transforms and presses Remus up against the door, kissing him passionately. Remus forgets that this is the Order headquarters and is halfway to shoving his hands down the back of Sirius’s trousers when they hear a noise in the kitchen. They break apart and Remus can see the horror on his face reflected back in Sirius’s. Putting a finger to his lips, Remus shoves Sirius towards the upstairs - of course he must have not heard anyone come in, that’s a plausible story, sort of - and heads down to the kitchen, cheeks flushed, knowing he still smells of the autumn air.

 

Severus is bent over the kitchen table. Of course it’s fucking Severus. He is writing a note. Remus says, ‘Evening,’ as pleasantly as he can. 

 

‘Where is Black?’ Severus asks without looking up, but shifting the note slightly so it is impossible for Remus to read. 

 

‘I’m not sure,’ Remus says. ‘I’ll go check upstairs, shall I?’

 

Severus meets Remus’s eyes and rolls his own. ‘I’m not an idiot, Lupin. Wherever you are, he’s keeping a close eye on you. Have you been out walking your pet dog? You must know that the Death Eaters know that he is an Animagus.’

 

‘Why would they know?’ Remus asks pleasantly. ‘Did you tell them?’

 

Severus snorts. ‘Have you forgotten your friend Peter Pettigrew? He’s not very good with secrets.’

 

Remus has never once forgotten Peter, and never will, but he’s shocked at the realisation that Severus is almost certainly correct. This feels like such an intimate betrayal. He realises a second too late that Severus is watching him, and knows exactly what he is thinking. Severus snorts. ‘You and Sirius and James, so trusting of him.’

 

‘He was our friend,’ Remus says. He does not want to be drawn into this conversation. 

 

Severus smirks. ‘Unsurprising really that you all turned out the way you did.’

 

‘Severus…’

 

Remus pauses as he hears footsteps above them, coming towards the stairs down to the kitchen. He knows from their cadence that they are Sirius’s. Severus throws a contemptuous look at the ceiling and asks, ‘And how is being shut up with the mental patient?’

 

‘Severus, do you really have nothing more productive to do with your time than taunt me?’

 

‘I’m waiting for Albus,’ Severus says with a little shrug. ‘And it is so much fun to taunt the utter disaster that is the fate of you four. Tell me, Remus, is it really working for you, being with someone so… damaged? I know you think he’s the only one crazy enough to be with a werewolf, but Nymphadora has certainly been keeping a close eye on you.’

 

Sirius opens the door as Remus, now truly angry, says, ‘I have never given you permission to discuss my private life, Severus.’ In his peripheral vision, he sees Sirius freeze in the doorway. ‘I do not want to have a row.’

 

‘Just making conversation,’ Severus says, infuriatingly calm. Remus knows that Severus has won, and knows that Severus knows it. Severus looks in Sirius’s direction. ‘I suppose I could go out and return in a bit when Albus is nearer.’

 

‘Please do,’ Remus says, and turns to the doorway - ‘Sirius, excuse me,’ he says, not caring about if he needs to stop a fight between those two or not. Sirius steps sideways, giving him a frown of concern, and Remus exits up the stairs in a way he hopes looks more like a sweep than a flounce. He comes into the hallway and doesn’t break stride as he turns to the stairs to the first floor, where they have made a sitting room that is not too awful. Sirius catches up to him as he is wrenching open its door. 

 

‘Moony?’

 

‘Severus is a git,’ Remus snaps. ‘It’s not important.’

 

He leads them into the sitting room, collects the pile of Order correspondence that needs reading from a low table by the door, and throws himself onto the leather sofa, opening a letter and staring blankly at it. Sirius sits on the floor beside his leg and lays his head on his knee, one hand wrapped around his calf and holding tightly. Remus takes several deep breaths and then puts his hand on Sirius’s head. He strokes the soft hair that falls behind Sirius’s ears until he calms down enough to work. Then Sirius joins him on the sofa and they resume the task. 

 

***

One time Tonks had asked him, ‘What do you want to do when the war is over?’ and he had lamely told her, ‘Return to teaching.’ She had accepted the answer, but he had not, and has been mulling over it for months. There are so many things he wants to do. 

 

He wants to return to UCL and finish his PhD thesis, now fifteen years dormant. He wants to create a group for Dark Creature advocacy and raise money to help Dark Creatures - so many of them become runaways as teenagers, or fall into dire financial straits. He used to wonder if it was selfish to be so interested in advancing his own rights, but an older werewolf whom he met during his studies named Lila told him that he had to fight for his own rights because no one else would. He’s held those words in his heart for years. 

 

He wants to work on prison reform, too. 

 

He wants to make the world a better place, not just return it to the baseline of discrimination that allowed Voldemort to rise. 

 

He wants them to always have a home that Harry can return to (if he wants).

 

He wants to marry Sirius, now that that’s legal. 

 

First, though, he has to do this: the war. 

 

Albus writes to him and asks him to go to London and see what is happening in the werewolf community there. Remus had checked on them a little over a year ago - during the summer before Harry’s fifth year - and all had seemed as well as it usually did, although Lila, their leader, was getting very old and it was clear that many more rough transformations would kill her. He had first become aware of the den while he was doing his PhD research, and had met her then, when she had been strong and vibrant. The rapidity with which she has aged makes him sad. 

 

Once in London, he knows that it is best to approach the den using werewolf magic rather than wizarding magic. Most of the werewolves are not wizards - they were Muggles, once. There are a few who were adult wizards when bitten. Remus remains, as far as he knows, the only werewolf to have survived childhood and gone on to attend Hogwarts and become a proper wizard. 

 

He rides the tube late at night to an underused stop and hops down onto the tracks. He knows that preventing the CCTV from picking up on the use of this entrance required quite a bit of effort, but he is grateful for it - the other way in requires use of the sewers via a seemingly-abandoned Anderson shelter and it is truly unpleasant. Twenty feet along on the tracks is a service door; he knows the code and steps through the doorway. After that it is a brief walk to the abandoned station one down the line. The CCTV in here has been doctored as well, but he can’t help it - his eyes automatically look for the cameras. Remus has an idea to use CCTV within London to track the movement of the Death Eaters and has been trying to work out the logistics of it for some time; the most delightful part of the idea is that it would be using Muggle technology against those who disdain it.

 

As always, he can smell the den long before he can see any signs of it. It is located in some of the warren of tunnels behind the abandoned and shuttered tube station, which is one of the deep level ones. Because underground London is a honeycomb of tunnels, the movement of unseen trains nearby is a constant presence, and in the close atmosphere, Remus always has a period of uncomfortable claustrophobia that he can’t think about too much or he’ll risk a panic attack. He comes to the entrance to the den proper and presses a hand to the electronic pad that serves as a door knocker. There is a long wait. Then the door opens; it is a man Remus does not recognise. 

 

‘I came to see Lila,’ he says quietly. The man regards him without a word, and then opens the door further and allows him to enter. He leads him down a corridor and then turns abruptly away from the main area to the medical area. Remus’s stomach dips in sudden anxiety. The man delivers him to someone else - this seems remarkably formal - and the someone else, an equally silent woman with a scar on her neck that looks like the werewolf tried to take her head off, leads him to an antechamber. She points towards the door without a word and watches him. Not seeing any other choice, he opens it and steps inside.

 

Lila is lying on a bed, covered in a grey blanket; at first, Remus thinks she is dead, but a second later, he sees the blanket move slightly. At her bedside is Tenebrae, her granddaughter, who turns to look at him. Ten does not have lycanthropy, but she has lived with the pack and served as a caretaker on full moon nights for as long as Remus has known them. 

 

‘Remus,’ she says quietly, holding out her hand to him. He steps forward and takes it, squeezing tightly. 

 

‘How is she?’ he asks, but it is five days after the full moon and she does not look well.

 

Ten looks back, her hair swinging in front of her face. ‘She won’t survive the next transformation,’ she says quietly, ‘at least, I hope not. We thought she wouldn’t survive this one. She hasn’t awoken or said anything since.’

 

Remus sinks into a chair beside Ten. The feeling of grief that threatens to overwhelm him is surprising in its vastness; he hadn’t known how much she meant to him. She had been leading London’s werewolves - the largest society of werewolves, and their occasional human companions - for decades, through poverty and deprivation and outside threats, and all that she has now is a thin blanket and a small private place in a hospital that had been her idea. 

 

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says to Ten. 

 

‘I’m sorry too,’ Ten says. She raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m going to be moving on, after. I don’t like what’s happening here.’

 

Remus frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

 

‘Have you met Dear Leader?’ she asks. 

 

He shakes his head. ‘I just arrived. I thought Lila was still…’

 

‘No,’ she says. ‘Someone called Fenrir Greyback. He’s knows a lot about wizards, by the way.’

 

For a moment, Remus isn’t sure how to respond. This is stunningly terrible news. ‘He’s one of Voldemort’s,’ he says, very quietly.

 

Ten is watching him. He can tell she doesn’t know what that means. ‘He’s made a lot of promises to them,’ she says. ‘A lot of them think he has the right idea.’

 

‘What do you think?’

 

She hesitates. ‘I think… I think he’s lying. I think he can’t deliver on what he’s promising.’

 

‘Which is what?’

 

‘Equal treatment. Money. For some, revenge on the humans who shunned them.’

 

***

 

One of the den’s healers - a man named Joseph, a wizard who was bitten shortly after he left Hogwarts - slips Remus a note as he is leaving Lila’s room. Remus leaves the den without going further into it; he is not sure if Greyback will recognise him as a member of the Order but he doesn’t feel like taking the chance just now. He has an idea to disguise himself but he’ll need time to prepare. On the tube, he opens the note from Joseph; it is a request to meet at a nearby Costa. 

 

Inside the Costa, Remus pays for two teas with the Muggle credit card he and Sirius set up together - a way to escape into the Muggle world if need be - and feels infinitely grateful to be able to buy two teas and not worry about the cost of it. He sits at a back table and takes a book out of his coat pocket. He stares at the pages, thinking about Lila, and Fenrir’s presence. Out of habit, he keeps an eye on the door, and Joseph enters not too long after him.

 

Joseph pulls out the chair opposite and asks, ‘Is that for me?’

 

Remus smiles. ‘Of course.’ He slides it towards the older man and leans forward. ‘How have you been, Joseph?’

 

‘Not well,’ Joseph says, sipping thirstily at the tea and wincing. ‘Hot.’ 

 

‘I haven’t been here long.’ Remus smoothes his hands across the cover of his book. ‘I’m sorry to hear you’re not well,’ he prompts. 

 

Joseph sighs and rubs a hand across his face. ‘Things are different now, Remus.’

 

‘With Lila ill?’

 

‘Lila is going to die soon,’ Joseph says bluntly. ‘Frankly, it would be better for Ten if she did. It’s becoming very unsafe for any humans to be in the den.’

 

‘Because of Greyback?’

 

Joseph meets his eyes and nods. ‘You know who he is?’

 

‘He was a Death Eater in the last war,’ Remus says. ‘Joined up late. I never encountered him, but I knew him by reputation.’ His reputation had made some of the people in the Order suspicious of Remus: a werewolf who bit even when it wasn’t the full moon. 

 

Joseph takes another sip of tea. Remus has the impression that he doesn’t want to share bad news. Finally, he says, ‘You know that in the last war, we stayed out of it, for the most part. Lila kept the den neutral. You were the only person actively fighting for either side-’ Remus opens his mouth to speak and he holds up a hand - ‘and I know you didn’t ever really consider yourself one of us.’ 

 

‘That’s not-’

 

‘It’s all right,’ Joseph says. ‘You have humans who love you. You weren’t raised with the den and you didn’t have to run to it for protection. It’s completely understandable.’

 

When he was in the early stages of his PhD research, Remus had first met and interviewed Joseph. His story had felt like a funhouse mirror image of Remus’s. Joseph had come recently to the den at that time. He had been a promising young wizard, but his marriage had dissolved after he was bitten and then he had lost his job at the Ministry. He had been on the verge of taking his own life when he had gone to meet Lila as a last resort. Remus had met him only a few months later. Joseph knows that Remus has - or at least back then had - a partner and that he was raised amongst wizards despite his lycanthropy. 

 

‘How are you, by the way?’ Joseph asks quietly. 

 

‘I’m worried,’ Remus says. ‘For myself and my -’ he thinks of Sirius and Harry, ‘and for my family.’ 

 

‘The Dark Lord?’

 

‘Is that what he’s being called these days?’

 

Joseph shrugs. ‘I don’t want any part of this fight, Remus. Not on either side. But I’m being forced into it.’

 

‘How so?’

 

‘Greyback is lying,’ Joseph says flatly. ‘At least, I feel quite certain he is.’

 

‘About what?’

 

‘He says that when the Dark Lord is in power, werewolves - those who were loyal - will have high status. At least be on the same level as wizards. No more discriminatory laws. The right to work…’

 

Remus sighs. ‘Of course he’s lying.’

 

‘But people in the den are desperate. That law that was written by Fudge’s undersecretary -’

 

‘Umbridge.’

 

‘Yes, her, that law has really put us all into a difficult situation.’

 

‘They’re being fools,’ Remus says, more forcefully than he means to.

 

‘Very few of us have the resources you do,’ Joseph says, and Remus hears a warning tone in his voice. ‘In fact, not a one of us can run off to our wealthy partner…’

 

‘I got lucky,’ Remus says sharply. ‘But there’s another side to this.’

 

‘What’s that?’

 

‘If - when - Voldemort’s side loses, the Ministry will still be in power. And if they can point to us - to any werewolves - who fought on his side - that will negate everything. We’ll be declared dangerous enemies of the wizarding world, we’ll be feared and reviled more than we are now.’ He leans forward. ‘We cannot be on the wrong side of this fight.’

 

Joseph stares down at his tea. ‘Seems like a lose-lose, then. Greyback won’t be swayed, and he’s already recruited a lot of people.’ 

 

‘Then I’ll have to recruit more,’ Remus says, grim. He doesn’t feel a tremendous amount of optimism. ‘Joseph-’

 

‘Yes, yes.’ the other man says, sounding exasperated. ‘Of course I’m with you. You knew that from the start. What’s your plan?’ 

 

***

That night, Remus walks the length of the central part of the city, all the way down to the river across from Westminster, and finds a soggy tourist display of postcards. He needs a specific one - the Tower of London - but it’s easy to find. Sirius will know that he means the Tower from tarot. This tarot analogy postcard is a callback to the first war, when they had every card in the tarot assigned to a London landmark in order to communicate easily and in a roughly encrypted manner via Muggle post. The Tower portends sudden, potentially violent change; Remus’s mission here is different than they had thought it was. 

 

Stepping into a tunnel along the river, he bends over the postcard and writes, in his careful, blackboard-ready script, ‘I miss you and I love you. Xx -M’ He longs to write more - to Apparate home and talk to Sirius - but he knows communications could be monitored and that travel is dangerous. He also knows that if he goes home it will be very difficult for him to leave again. He affixes a stamp and drops the postcard into a postbox by the Tate Modern. Then he crosses the river and, casting a final look up at the leaden, dripping sky, heads underground. 

 

In the abandoned station, he casts a glamour. He wants to look different, but Polyjuice is too complex - taking a potion every hour would be impossible - and he doesn’t want to look like someone else anyway. His story is that he has been abroad for many years, returned to the UK, and found it impossible to secure a job. He has old memories of the den from years ago and thought it would be a welcoming place. His bite scar is too old to pass himself off as a recent werewolf and he wants the ability to reference the distant past of the den anyway. Only Joseph and Ten will know. 

 

Immediately, it is clear how different things are. When he enters, people are suspicious of him. His story is questioned rigorously and he’s glad he has the details to draw on from his own past because he is brought before Greyback almost immediately. He has never met him before, but loathes his brutal reputation. He tries to keep an open mind, but it is difficult. In person, his appearance is strange - almost as if he is emphasizing his wolf-like qualities so much that they are distorting his human ones - but Remus is well-practised at hiding his true feelings. 

 

Somehow, he passes the first tests. He can tell they are suspicious of him; it is clear that he has lived among wizards, a benefit few of them were ever given, and many of them resent him for it. They always did before, too, but not quite like this. Living in the poor and sometimes downright squalid conditions of the den, he longs for what it was like when Lila was in charge. It had been poor then too - but there had been a sense of purpose, and of hope. 

 

He also is desperately aware that he does not have to be here. Yes, Albus asked him, and yes, he is going to do it, but he could walk out of the den at any time and go home and afford to eat whatever he likes and sleep in a warm bed beside the man he loves. He has so many things, compared to the people here, that he feels at times like he is playing a game, while for them it is life and death. 

 

At other times he thinks that it is in the other world that he is playing: playing at being a wizard, a human. Here he doesn’t deny who - what - he is: a werewolf. 

 

His mission moves forward with slow progress. He convinces some members of the den to remain neutral, and he knows that Joseph does as well. They survive a full moon together. Greyback brings some Wolfsbane Potion and rations it to his favourites; he claims he has randomly chosen who will receive it but it is very clear that this is a power play. Grimly, the next morning, wrapping his wounds - for Remus has certainly not been one of the lucky ones - he reminds himself to add access to preventative healing to his list of issues necessary to werewolves. It has been a long time since he has been without either Wolfsbane or Padfoot, and it reminds him sharply of the bad old years without Sirius. It reminds him of how fragile his personal peace is, and what a shaky house of cards he has built it upon. 

 

Greyback is recruiting for people to accompany him on the next full moon. Remus declines, and does his best to make a case for why others should not go. He knows he is causing some defections and also knows that Greyback will soon take notice. He’s not sure of when the best time to disappear from the den will be. He becomes increasingly anxious, and thinks of one of his favourite Pynchon quotes: ‘Paranoids are not paranoid because they’re paranoid, but because they keep putting themselves, fucking idiots, deliberately into paranoid situations.’ The morning after the next full moon proves him right.

 

He falls asleep immediately after the transformation back to human, as he always does. He is exhausted in body and mind, having spent the night tearing at himself, in one of the many tiny kennels in the depths of the den. Unchecked, he would sleep for hours, while his body heals itself. Instead, he is awoken by someone opening the door to his kennel.

 

It is Ash, one of Greyback’s favorites. He looks exhausted but triumphant. Remus’s stomach clenches in fear; what have they done in the night?

 

‘Get up,’ Ash says. He takes Remus’s clothes from their hook and throws them at him. ‘Greyback wants to speak to you.’ 

 

Remus dresses himself slowly, aching in every part of his body. Ash watches him with a leering expression. 

 

‘You’re getting old,’ he says as Remus fumbles with the buttons of his trousers.

 

‘We all are,’ Remus says, trying to sound cheerful. 

 

Ash ignores him and takes him up to the meeting room. Greyback is seated on a chair that he clearly intends to have look like a throne. Remus fights the familiar feeling of loathing as he enters the large, low-ceilinged room. There are many people around, all recovering from the night before, but most of them had Wolfsbane and are in better shape than he is. It smells like stale blood, with an undercurrent of something else unpleasant.

 

‘Your name is Remus Lupin, isn’t it?’ Greyback says without preamble. ‘Don’t lie, now. I know you’re telling everyone it’s something else but…’

 

Remus decides to go with radical truth telling and see if he can throw Greyback off. He is nauseous with sudden terror and lingering pain. ‘Yes, it is.’  

 

‘You are with the Order?’ Greyback asks.

 

‘Yes.’

 

Greyback snorts. ‘Their puppet.’

 

In his pocket, Remus grips his wand. ‘How is that?’ he asks politely. 

 

‘They’re using you to get to us,’ Greyback snarls. ‘You think they value you?’

 

Remus thinks of his shocking election to be Albus’s successor and is surprised to find that he thinks they do. It lights a small, warm fire in his belly. ‘Do you think Voldemort values you?’ 

 

There is a sharp intake of breath around the room. Even Greyback looks horrified, though he recovers quickly. ‘Do not say the Dark Lord’s name.’ 

 

‘I’m not afraid to say Voldemort,’ Remus says quietly, ‘because he holds no power over me.’

 

‘Remus Lupin,’ Greyback says, and his voice is chillingly cold, ‘I know you.’ He stands and Remus clenches his wand tighter and refuses to step back. Greyback comes right up to him - he is an enormous man, taller than Remus, and with a great deal of muscular bulk. He seems to sniff at Remus for a long moment, moving around him, while Remus wills himself to stand in place. Then Greyback says, ‘Let me see your scar.’

 

‘It’s covered,’ Remus says, not sure where this is going but knowing it’s not anywhere good. 

 

‘Upper thigh?’ Greyback asks, leaning close enough that Remus can smell his breath, which is appalling. ‘You were a small child?’ 

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says. 

 

‘I remember you,’ Greyback says. He leans back and grins; his teeth are a horror. ‘You were tiny.’

 

‘Three years old,’ Remus says, automatically, his brain struggling to process what Greyback is saying.  _ How can he know how does he know why would he know? _

 

‘Your father,’ Greyback says. ‘He deserved it.’ 

 

Remus blinks. ‘My father?’ 

 

‘He told the Ministry about me,’ Greyback says. ‘I escaped and I bit you to teach him a lesson.’ He steps forward again and puts his hand on Remus’s leg; Remus shudders and tries to pull away but Greyback uses his other hand to grip his shoulder. He feels immensely strong. ‘You’re one of mine. You belong to me.’ 

 

Remus hexes him. Greyback jerks backward and Remus spins, wand out, threatening the others about coming near him. Most will not have learned to use a wand and are terrified of magic. He knows this is disastrous - they will not trust a wizard - but he has to leave. Greyback has no wand and Remus knows it. He hexes him again, for good measure, and says, in as strong a voice as he can manage, ‘If any of you - any one of you, no matter what you have done in the past - wants to join me, send me a letter. I will protect you.’ Greyback is lurching to his feet, enraged, and Remus knows that his magic will be less effective against him because of his werewolf magic. He hexes him a final time, sweeps his wand in a circle in front of himself to create a Shield Charm, and runs for it. 

 

He does not stop running until he emerges into the tunnel that leads to the Underground station. He crawls up onto the platform and doubles over, gasping, pain wracking his body - he vomits over the side onto the tracks - someone grabs his arm and he spins, ready to attack, realises it is a Muggle who is trying to stop him from falling in front of the train - and pelts past them and into the broad hallway of the station. He steps onto the escalator up and bends over, hands on his knees, trying to breathe. His adrenaline is expiring, fast. He has a suspicion that Greyback will be waiting for him upstairs, so he slips into a service corridor. His glamour is still present, still making his appearance forgettable, even more so for Muggles. He picks a lock with a whispered Alohomora and collapses into a broom cupboard. Reaching up, he pulls the door shut behind him and curls his arms around his knees. He is startled to find that he is sobbing. His body, where Greyback touched him, feels filthy. He wants to scrub off the skin. 

 

_ You’re one of mine. You belong to me. _

 

He hadn’t known. All his life, he’d believed that the werewolf who had bitten him was innocent, in thrall to the disease. He’d never blamed him. 

 

_ My father… _

 

He doesn’t know how his father might have exposed Greyback but this explains so much: the move to the country, his parents changing their careers, the obvious guilt they felt for his condition… His entire childhood, his relationship with his parents, which had always been an honest one, feels like it is a sand castle crumbling slowly but inexorably with the creep of the tide. 

 

Eventually, he leaves the station. Greyback is not there. He is too weak to Apparate well, so he buys a train ticket and rides, sleeping fitfully and waking frequently from instantly forgettable nightmares, to Cardiff. From there he is able to Apparate in short hops to a safe place near to home. It is raining, a slow, undramatic drizzle. He walks the rest of the way, freezing, letting the rain trickle into his clothes and cleanse him. 

 

With every step, he dreads seeing Sirius. Interacting with humans on the train after the darkness of the den is hard enough. He feels inhuman and wrong. Sirius will be a bright spark reminding him of the world he pretends to be a part of. He holds his wand tightly. It his tether to the world of wizards. He remembers, suddenly and vividly, James, in their fifth year:

 

‘Wait, how will we hold our wands?’ he’d asked, looking around the room at his fellow soon-to-be Animagi. ‘Do we fashion some way to carry it or…?’

 

‘I think we have to go without,’ Sirius had said, always ready for a flash of the wild. But James and Peter had been shockingly reluctant to the point of almost not wanting to transfigure fully and it had startled Remus. He had never once considered what it meant to be without his wand during the transformation. Was this another way that he was wrong?

 

When he opens the door, Sirius is there, on his feet in a second and reaching out to catch him. Exhausted, Remus sags against him without meaning to; Sirius’s arms are warm and strong and his breath is warm in Remus’s ear. Remus lets him go, gently. Sirius, always empathetic when it comes to Remus, is instantly alarmed, Remus can tell, but he doesn’t have the emotional - or physical - strength to worry about that right now. 

 

‘I have to sleep,’ he says, his own voice sounding like it is coming from very far underwater. He is suddenly afraid he’ll collapse right there. He walks away, every step deliberate. 

 

Sirius follows him to the bedroom. ‘What happened?’ Concern is making his voice jump. 

 

‘I’ll tell you soon,’ Remus says. He steps into the bathroom and looks at the bath - he’ll fall asleep and drown if he gets in there - so he settles for stripping off all of his clothes and kicking them underneath it. There are pyjamas on the door, either his or Sirius’s, he’s not sure, but he pulls them on, scrubs his face clean in the basin, and leaves, walking into the bedroom. 

 

Sirius freezes in mid-pace. ‘Moony…’ 

 

Remus crawls into the bed and mumbles something appeasing; then he pulls the duvet over his head and falls into a black and mercifully dreamless sleep. 

 

***

He thinks he could have slept for days, but a letter from Harry forces his brain to lurch back into gear. Sirius wakes him to show him it and after a few moments of reading it dumbly, its meaning penetrates through the fog in his brain. 

 

‘Do you remember a necklace like that?’ he asks Sirius, struggling to do so himself..

 

Sirius shakes his head, making a face. ‘There were so many things in that house…’ 

 

Remus finds it tough to care, even though he knows he should. ‘Another mystery,’ he says wearily, reaching for the duvet, wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and not have to think about any of it.

 

‘What is wrong?’ Sirius grabs for the duvet. ‘Remus, please. Tell me what happened.’ The fear in his voice finally breaks through to somewhere inside of Remus. ‘You’re really scaring me,’ he adds. 

 

Remus pushes the duvet back and winces. He remembers Ash: ‘You’re getting old,’ and thinks he used to heal faster. ‘It’s an impossible mission convincing people that they should trust the Order when there’s the history of what has been done by witches and wizards of supposed good conscience.’ He finally looks at Sirius, fully: this imperfect perfect man. ‘So that’s, well, it’s hard. Their lives are very hard, without access to proper healthcare or education or… There but for the grace of Albus go I.’ He does not need to add, there but for the grace of you, because Sirius is already reaching for him. He doesn’t want to be touched yet. That violated, ugly feeling is back. He holds up his hand and can see Sirius struggle to stop himself. ‘There’s another thing.’

 

Sirius puts his hands in his lap and fidgets with them. ‘What?’

 

‘Do you remember,’ Remus swallows, ‘Fenrir Greyback?’

 

Sirius purses his lips, thinking. ‘Death Eater… I can’t remember… did he die? Or go to Azkaban?’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘Neither,’ and he knows he has to rush through this, his throat is already aching, his eyes prickling. ‘He went into hiding. He’s a werewolf, you know.’

 

‘The one who was biting people even when he was in human form,’ Sirius says. All Remus can do is nod. ‘What about him?’ Sirius asks. ‘Is he back?’ Remus nods again. ‘Did you see him?’ 

 

Remus takes a deep breath and tries to steady his voice. ‘He’s running the show in London.’ He swallows hard again. ‘The entire werewolf community is in thrall to him. Apparently he’s made them a lot of promises if they’ll be loyal to Voldemort. 

 

Sirius looks genuinely appalled. ‘Fuck,’ he says. ‘Did you meet him?’ 

 

It’s like he’s been stabbed in the stomach. It takes him a moment to be able to say the next part. ‘Yes. And he, he, he remembered me. I didn’t remember him - didn’t know that I even should. But he remembered me.’ 

 

Sirius sounds confused. ‘From the Order?’ 

 

Remus manages to shake his head. ‘From when I was a child,’ he whispers. ‘From when he bit me.’ 

 

Sirius blinks once and stares. ‘I thought you didn’t know who…’

 

‘I didn’t,’ Remus says, and he starts to fall apart. ‘I didn’t.’

 

Remus winds up sobbing into Sirius’s lap while Sirius smoothes his hair and strokes his back. When Remus finally stops, and manages to push himself up, Sirius hands him a handkerchief. His face is set. ‘Did he do it on purpose?’ he asks. 

 

‘He said he did,’ Remus says. ‘He said my father outed him as a werewolf to the Ministry so in retaliation he attacked me.’

 

‘I’ll kill him,’ Sirius says matter-of-factly.

 

Remus is startled. ‘Sirius.’

 

‘I mean it,’ Sirius says. ‘He did this to you. He did this to your family. He gave you this disease and he…’

 

‘He ruined my life?’ Remus asks softly. 

 

Sirius hesitates. ‘Remus…’

 

Remus tries to articulate something he’s been thinking about in the gaps between sleeping the past two days. It’s not something he’s ever had to contemplate before, when he thought that his bite was accidental, when he’d believed there was no choice in it. ‘I wouldn’t be who I am without my lycanthropy.’

 

Sirius studies him. Remus can tell he wants to say the right thing. ‘But your life would be easier.’

 

‘You wouldn’t be an Animagus,’ Remus says. He takes Sirius’s hand from the bed and twists their fingers together. ‘You couldn’t have escaped.’

 

‘He hurt you,’ Sirius says, very firmly. ‘Whatever the consequences. And he’s hurt a lot of other people too.’

 

‘Remember what Harry said,’ Remus says quietly. ‘Don’t go killing anyone.’

 

Sirius squeezes Remus’s hand. They sit in silence for a few moments. Sirius picks up Harry’s letter from the bedside table and re-reads it. Remus remembers the weight of Fenrir’s hand on his shoulder and stands up.

 

‘I’m going to take a bath,’ he says. 

 

‘Do you want me to make you food?’ Sirius asks. 

 

‘Maybe just a cup of tea.’

 

He heats the water in the bath until it is almost too hot to touch and then lowers himself into it, sinking down as far as he can, feeling it tingle and burn. He sinks into the water and stares at the wall. The room is silent but for the drip of condensation from the tap into the bath; he can hear Sirius in the kitchen, puttering, clinking glasses as he washes dishes.  _ How fragile this is… _

 

Sirius knocks and enters. He sets two cups of tea down on the stool beside the bath and peels off his jumper. 

 

‘Are you coming in?’ Remus asks, reaching for one of the cups.

 

‘Yeah,’ Sirius says. He finishes undressing as Remus sips at his tea - just the perfect temperature, swirling creamy from the milk, the perfect taste. He scoots forward and Sirius climbs into the tub behind him. There’s a lot of sloshing and adjusting but eventually Remus is leaning back against him, Sirius’s arm wrapped around his chest, Remus holding his arm with one hand and his tea with the other. 

 

‘Fuck, this is hot,’ Sirius says in his ear. Remus turns his head and presses it into Sirius’s collarbone. Sirius kisses his ear. ‘Are you all right, Moony?’

 

Remus thinks about it. ‘No,’ he says eventually. ‘It feels wrong to be here. Wrong in the sense that I have these nice things and they don’t have anything…’ 

 

Sirius hums acknowledgement against the side of his head. ‘You deserve nice things,’ he says after a minute. 

 

‘Not more than anyone else.’

 

‘I think you do.’

 

Remus laughs softly. ‘I love you.’

 

‘I love  _ you _ ,’ Sirius replies. He sucks Remus’s earlobe into his mouth and Remus squirms back against him. He feels how hard Sirius is against his back and aches with sudden want. Sirius sets his tea back on the stool and lets his hand roam down Remus’s chest to his inner thigh. Remus makes a little inadvertent moan. ‘I missed you, too,’ Sirius whispers, running a finger around the sensitive skin there. ‘Everything about you.’ 

 

Remus turns a little in the water and kisses Sirius deeply, longingly, trying to convey to him how much he needs him and needs this and how empty his life would be - how empty it was - without it. Sirius knows; Sirius has to know; and Remus pours himself into the kiss, managing to set his tea down without upending it and to press his hand to Sirius’s chest, just over his steady heartbeat, while Sirius’s hands pull him close and stroke him. Remus manages to straddle him despite the cramped space of the tub - if he didn’t know better, he’d swear Sirius is doing something magical to expand it - and they get a lot more water on the floor. 

 

Afterwards, he leans against Sirius’s chest, feeling his breaths rise and fall, Sirius still inside of him, just. Sirius strokes his hair lazily. 

 

‘Sirius?’

 

‘Mm?’

 

‘Do you think I look old?’

 

Sirius raises one eyebrow at him. ‘What?’

 

‘Someone said I did. In the den.’

 

Sirius snorts. ‘Fuck ‘em,’ he says. There’s a pause. Then: ‘Or, you know, don’t, fuck me instead -’

 

‘Again?’ Remus asks sweetly.

 

‘Later,’ Sirius grins. He runs his hand down Remus’s cheek and to his mouth, touches his lips and his teeth and his tongue. Remus kisses his fingertips. ‘Fuck ‘em,’ Sirius repeats. ‘You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.’

 

Remus takes Sirius’s hand and holds it tight. This body is his, and he can give it freely to the man he loves. Nothing can change that. 


	20. Peter

Peter’s mum tells him he’s very brave as he’s about to board the train. His four younger sisters are all looking up at him with big eyes and his mother, wiping her tears with a polka-dotted handkerchief, hugs him tight enough that he sees stars. She says it over and over again, like she wants to bolster herself. Peter won’t be home to help in the shop anymore, and with his father gone nearly a year now, he knows it’s going to be hard for her.

 

‘I’ll be back at Christmas,’ he says, trying to separate himself from her, because people are _staring_.

 

At Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat settles onto his head and he’s thrust into velvety darkness. He hasn’t given this process a tremendous amount of thought; without malice, he’d concluded that he’s not from a nice enough family to be in Slytherin and he’s definitely not got the brains for Ravenclaw, so one of the other two…

 

‘You’re a difficult one, Peter Pettigrew,’ the hat says, and Peter is vaguely flattered that anyone, let alone an institution as venerable as the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, would find him a mystery.

 

‘Can I help?’ he asks politely.

 

The Hat ponders a moment more. ‘You could go either way,’ it announces. ‘I think I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Gryffindor!’

 

So: the Hat places him into the brave house. As Peter sits down at the table, surrounded by mostly larger students he doesn’t know, he doesn’t feel brave; but then the next boy, James Potter, gets sorted to the same house and comes to sit beside him.

 

‘I think we’re going to be best friends,’ James announces to Peter and the other two Gryffindor first year boys, a stricken-looking one who even eleven year old Peter can tell is handsome when he isn’t looking like he’s at a funeral, and a very pale and sickly-looking one who is watching the handsome one with concern. James does not seem to have picked up on any of the emotional cues on their faces, and ploughs onward. ‘We’re going to have so many adventures!’

 

It’s tough not to feel brave in the face of that kind of enthusiasm.

 

***

Two months into their first year, Peter, victim of too much juice with breakfast, nips into the loo on their way to lunch and emerges into a startling scene. A stunningly beautiful blond - girl is not the word, because she appears to be a fully grown adult, but Peter guesses she is actually a seventh year - so, er, woman, then - is standing in front of his friends in the hallway, a smirk on her face.

 

‘You’re such a disappointment,’ he hears her say as the door swings shut behind him. ‘Your mother -’

 

‘You don’t have to listen to her,’ Remus interrupts, and Peter is struck by how young his voice sounds.

 

‘What did you say?’ the woman demands.

 

‘I said,’ Remus stands up a little straighter, and Peter wants to sink back into the wall and disappear, ‘Sirius, you don’t have to listen to her.’

 

‘Nah, mate, you don’t,’ James says in a tone of forced insouciance. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

 

The woman puts out a hand to block him. ‘I’m having a private conversation with my cousin here -’

 

‘Doesn’t seem too private,’ James says.

 

‘You kind of interrupted us in the middle of the hallway,’ Remus says.

 

Sirius isn’t saying anything. Peter wants to know what his face looks like right now but can’t see it from back here.

 

The woman is angry now. ‘Sirius, if this is the kind of company you’re keeping-’

 

‘We’re precisely the kind of company he’s keeping,’ James says cheekily.

 

‘We’re his friends,’ Remus adds, and there’s nothing cheeky about it. Peter thinks he’s suddenly a bit scary, and files that away in his mind as very interesting. Nothing Remus has ever done before has suggested this side of him. That is in contrast to James, where everything Peter has ever observed him doing has suggested - no, shouted - that he is cheeky.

 

The woman now seems to be speaking to Sirius only, furious and bent towards him. ‘These three?’ she demands, and Peter realises that he must be obvious, and steps forward to join the other two. ‘Two blood traitors and, and,’ she looks at Remus, but the look is hard, as if she isn’t seeing another human being at all. Peter sees Remus see the look and sees Remus tense completely, like he’s expecting a physical blow. Strangely, what she says next makes him relax: ‘And this Halfblood? Really, Sirius, friends with a Halfblood?’

 

The next thing Peter knows, Sirius’s wand is out, and so are James’s and Remus’s, a half second later. The woman stares at them and asks incredulously, ‘You three are going to hex me?’ James glances back, sees Peter, and raises his eyebrows, like, _where’s your wand, mate?_ Peter knows he has to; terrified, he fishes it out of his pocket and stands, ready. His heart is beating in a weird, shallow, thready way. He wonders if he needs a healer.

 

Then Professor McGonagall walks around the corner, sees them all, and shrieks.

 

The walk to Professor Dumbledore’s office is not the silent walk to the gallows that Peter would have expected; instead, James, who is apparently chatty when threatened, keeps up a running commentary of their story. Peter belatedly comes to understand that the woman is a fifth year - Sirius’s cousin, Narcissa.

 

In the Headmaster’s office, they sit on a hard wooden bench before his desk, one which seems designed specifically to be uncomfortable, so they all shift around – all except Remus, who is crouched more than sitting and seems to be extremely tense. Remus is the logical one among them and his body language concerns Peter deeply; if Remus is anxious, Peter is officially distraught.

 

Professor Dumbledore enters and says, without preamble, ‘Dueling with a fifth year, and a highly accomplished one at that?’

 

‘We didn’t actually cast any spells, sir,’ James ventures into the silence that follows.

 

‘But you were prepared to.’ It’s not a question.  

 

‘She was, uhm,’ James says, and trails off.

 

‘It won’t happen again,’ Remus says in a strange voice. ‘We promise.’

 

‘I highly doubt that,’ Dumbledore replies. There’s a long pause. Then he says, ‘Perhaps you boys are too new to the school to know that duelling is an expellable offence.’

 

Peter hears the ‘e’ word and like a newsreel in his head the footage starts up: him arriving back home, his mother’s disappointment, him working in the shop, never learning magic beyond tailoring and mending, growing old alongside his mother, while his sisters go on to fabulous careers in exotic locales like Manchester or Leeds or even London…

 

‘I think that you will learn that rule if you serve detention for the next three weeks,’ Dumbledore continues. ‘What do you think?’

 

‘Yes, Professor,’ James says instantly. Remus seems to breathe again. Sirius remains inscrutable; later, Peter will find out that he’d half wished for expulsion, because his parents are threatening to send him to Durmstrang, and that would at least kill the suspense. Now, Peter’s brain shuts down its parade of depressing images and he feels his legs wobble. He wonders if this is what bravery feels like.

 

***

 

‘Wait,’ Peter says, for what feels like the hundredth time. ‘Wait, wait, wait. Sirius. This is an insane idea.’ He knows by now that what he is saying is meaningless protest - the fervent light of the true believer has come up in James’s eyes - but he wants it registered nonetheless. ‘I mean, first of all, it’s illegal.’ Sirius rolls his eyes. ‘Second of all, it’s impossible.’

 

‘Not for everyone,’ Sirius says. ‘Lots of people do it.’

 

‘Lots of people?’ Peter repeats, aghast. ‘Have you seen the registry? There’s, what, three people _this century_? One of whom is Professor McGonagall?’

 

‘But the book even says that lots of people are rumored to have done it without registering,’ Sirius points out.

 

‘And we can register when we’re older,’ James suggests. ‘After the fact.’

 

Sirius shrugs. ‘What’s the point of registering?’

 

‘Because it’s very dangerous magic,’ Peter says. He turns around the book Sirius has shown him. ‘Look at what’s happened to most people who’ve tried it!’

 

‘I didn’t read that far,’ Sirius says fiercely as James says, ‘He didn’t read that far,’ with a dismissive wave of his hand.

 

‘Peter, this will help Remus.’ Sirius leans forward. ‘Are you in or out?’

 

Peter, quietly terrified but unwilling to admit it, licks his lips, which he finds are quite dry. ‘In.’

 

***

 

Sixth year, and romance is in the air. They’re in an abandoned classroom late after curfew, seated around an empty butterbeer bottle - one of many in the room - with a mixed group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs spaced out girl-boy-girl-boy. Peter is a little bit drunk, but he’s not bad at holding his liquor. Definitely not as bad as Sirius, who gets outrageously, dramatically drunk and who is certain to end the night puking; and better, too, than James, who just gets hiccupy and giggly and will fall asleep early. Remus has some kind of werewolf metabolism or maybe just moderates himself well because he rarely ever seems to be drunk - though tonight, he’s a little bit louder than usual.

 

James leans forward and spins the bottle; a fierce battle of wands ensues as he tries to disguise his behind his back and spin it to Lily and she blatantly holds hers out in front of her lap and stops him. The bottle lands on someone else, they kiss, and that’s that - someone else’s turn.

 

Peter is enjoying watching the spectacle more than playing the game. He can’t imagine that any of the girls fancy him. Instead, he laughs (internally) at how stupid James acts around Lily, and is also just starting to notice how much Sirius watches Remus. He isn’t sure why that might be, but it’s an interesting thing to observe. Remus does not seem to return the attention. Peter wonders if Sirius is jealous of something.

 

After a few times round the circle, they change up the rules; now if the bottle wobbles the two parties involved get sent into a cupboard for an enforced three minutes of being alone in the dark, during which time the party can drink more. A very pretty, curvy blonde girl named Emmeline spins to Peter; the bottle wobbles as it stops and they are banished to the cupboard. It’s dark and Peter is suddenly very nervous; he can hear the others out there, talking, moving around, refilling drinks. He is very aware of the girl pressed up against him. As his eyes adjust, he sees that she is leaning towards him.

 

‘I like you, Peter Pettigrew,’ she says, and then she kisses him, not just the quick peck of spin the bottle, but a proper kiss. His first.

 

‘Do you?’ he whispers as she pulls back.

 

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘You’re funny and you’re cute.’ She kisses him again. Time’s up; the cupboard doors open and they tumble out. Peter feels like he’s suddenly flying above it all; his senses feel sharper than normal, like he can see everything and control everything. He sees Sirius watching Remus again, and James watching Lily, and decides to just… see where this might go. When Remus spins, Peter, wand behind his back, makes the bottle stop on Lily.

 

There’s silence; everyone seems to be looking at James, except Sirius, who is looking at Remus like he wants to light him on fire with his eyes, and Lily, who is also looking at Remus, defiant, and who stands up and says, ‘Well if it had to be one of you…’

 

‘Not Sirius?’ Emmeline asks, and Peter grins, looking down at his feet. Sirius is, of course, the handsome one. But Emmeline said she likes Peter...

 

‘His blood’s too pure for me,’ Lily says, winking at him. Sirius barely acknowledges her, just a roll of his eyes.

 

‘Well,’ Remus says, standing too, ‘I always like to think of kissing as an audition.’ Peter bursts into startled laughter; Remus is _definitely_ drunk. He and Lily go into the cupboard. Before the door is shut, James has poured shots, which he hands out to Sirius and then Peter, a fierce look on his face. Sirius throws his back in a fluid, continuous motion upon receiving it from James; Peter, not wanting to be sick, Vanishes his when they aren’t paying attention. When Remus and Lily emerge, flushed, hair mussed, clothing even a little bit in disarray, Peter gives up watching James, who looks sick, and watches Sirius instead, whose mouth is in a hard line and who is now sipping almost continuously from a Muggle bottle of vodka that someone has brought.

 

Later, in their bedroom, after he has practically carried Sirius up the stairs with some help from Peter, Remus says to James, ‘It was just a game.’

 

 _Classic Remus_ , Peter thinks. _The appeaser_. He wonders if Remus fancies Lily too. He’d never say, not with James, but he certainly hadn’t complained about going into that cupboard.

 

‘Yeah, well,’ James says - he is staggering around the room, accompanied by the sounds of Sirius worshipping at the porcelain god in the small toilet beyond - ‘she’d probably fancy you over me anyway.’

 

‘James,’ Remus says, warningly. Peter wants to tell him, _James doesn’t know you’re warning him. He never knows._

 

‘Prefects and all,’ James continues, and then he trips over Peter’s stack of textbooks and falls hard on the stone floor. ‘Fuck.’

 

‘Have some water,’ Remus suggests, and he conjures a cup, but James is up on all fours and crawling in the direction of the toilet, suddenly intent upon joining Sirius. Remus watches him go, and Peter watches Remus, until Remus turns to meet his eyes and then plunks himself down on the side of Peter’s bed.

 

‘Think he’ll remember in the morning?’

 

‘Probably not,’ Peter says truthfully.

 

‘Fuuuuuck,’ Remus replies, flopping backwards onto Peter’s pillow. ‘Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck.’

 

‘That good, huh?’ Peter asks. Remus moans in reply. ‘So tell me,’ Peter continues, lowering his voice, ‘is Lily a good kisser?’

 

Remus clearly tries to stop himself grinning; his smirk is much guiltier looking than a grin would have been. ‘I mean…’

 

‘Do you fancy her?’

 

Remus thinks for a minute. ‘I fancy kissing her again,’ he says, ‘but I’m not writing “Mr Lily Evans” in my schoolbooks like someone we know.’ He sits up, seeming suddenly sober. ‘And I’m not. Going to kiss her again, I mean.’

 

‘Because of James?’

 

‘Obviously.’

 

Peter wonders if he would do the same. He’s not sure he would. ‘You’re a good friend, Remus.’

 

Remus shrugs, deflects. _Classic Remus_. ‘Tell me about Emmeline. You seemed like you had a good time with her.’

 

James doesn’t remember any of it the next morning, and neither Remus nor Peter mentions it. Sirius, though, seems to have some new sharpness to him that Peter can’t parse for a long time. He even wonders if _Sirius_ fancies Lily too. It takes him until early in seventh year to finally understand why Sirius looks at Remus the way he does.

 

He catches him in an unguarded moment, early in the morning, when they are out on the Quidditch pitch tossing around Quaffles for James.

 

The light is slanting through the thick trees that ring the north side of the pitch, golden and early heralding of autumn, and Remus has just tumbled off of his borrowed broom and is lying on the ground, somewhere between winded and hysterical laughter. Peter turns to see Sirius standing beside the nearest goal post with his hands wrapped tightly around it and his face completely arrested, his eyes fixed solely on Remus, with such an unmistakable look of need that it makes Peter want to look away instinctively - it doesn’t seem decent, to see a look like that.

 

He ponders this development for months, certain that Remus does not - and will never - return those feelings. He is also quietly shocked that Sirius, who usually wears whatever emotion is guaranteed to cause the most upset on his sleeve, has managed to not say anything. Peter and Emmeline finally make it official at the Yule Ball that year while James and Sirius are depressed and drunk; Lily goes alone and Remus looks after the other two with what he confesses to Peter is relief - relief that he’d dodged the bullet of having to find a date.

 

(‘I can’t believe,’ James slurs that night, ‘that Wormy got laid before me.’ Peter laughs it off at the time but later, he’ll return to it, and wonder why James so obviously thought he was inferior.)

 

It takes six more months - and Lily asking James on a date to Hogsmeade - for Peter to finally realise what Remus feels. That day in town, he and Emmeline go to Madam Puddifoot’s and sit behind a slowly diminishing pile of cakes, spying on the date that is attracting so much attention that several people from other houses have come in to gawk. Emmeline, wickedly funny as ever, keeps up a running commentary that Peter is happy to supplement with his own observations. Lily seems charmed in spite of herself, is the thesis that Emmeline lands on halfway through, and Peter has to agree.

 

Then Sirius sweeps in, Remus close behind him, and Peter and Emmeline offer them seats. They seem in high spirits but also strange ones; Sirius is doing his usual adoring gazing but Remus seems weird too, sort of nervy, his eyes darting around but often landing on Sirius. Sirius goes to buy drinks and Remus keeps looking for him, and commenting what a long time it is taking for him to make it through the queue. Sirius returns with some fabulously expensive cocktail that he gives to Remus. Peter and Emmeline give each other a look across the table; Peter can count on her to be as observant as he is, but he hasn’t shared his thoughts on Sirius’s feelings for Remus with her. It feels treasonous, like sharing that he’s an Animagus.

 

‘So there’s the happy couple,’ Emmeline whispers to them, and Remus looks startled, then relaxes. Sirius is all smiles in a way that Peter has not seen him, well, ever.

 

‘How’s it going?’ Remus whispers. ‘Are they really getting along?’

 

‘It started off rough, but they seem pretty into it now…’

 

Peter drops his napkin deliberately and bends over to retrieve it, catching sight of a flash of movement that he realises a half second later is Remus _letting go of Sirius’s hand_. He’s so startled he comes up and slams the back of his head on the table. Emmeline fusses over him, Sirius asks if he’s all right through laughter, and Remus makes a concerned face that isn’t quite convincing now that Peter realises he is practically glowing. He tries frantically to communicate to Emmeline with his eyes that she needs to see what he is seeing. James and Lily finally leave at the last possible moment and the six of them walk back to the castle together and Peter wonders if he has hallucinated the whole thing until Emmeline slides a note into his hand as they say goodbye in the Great Hall.

 

Opening it on the walk to Gryffindor Tower, he reads, ‘Not to sound crazy but are Sirius and Remus fucking?!’

 

***

Peter is happy for his friends, of course.

 

Right?

 

But something is shifting - has shifted - and as much as he wants to be a good friend, he doesn’t like it.

 

Within the Marauders, there are factions - there is the four of them, and then there is James and Sirius, and then there is Peter and Remus and then the other pairings but not quite as strong - but now there is Sirius and Remus, which is suddenly eclipsing all other factions in its importance to the two of them. James does not seem to have noticed that Sirius has become a partner in crime who would forget to bring the getaway brooms if a certain werewolf was around, but Peter can’t not notice how Remus doesn’t even try to reign in Sirius anymore and sort of drifts off whenever he walks into the room. The force of Sirius and James’s friendship is so powerful that any fraction of losing Remus as an ally feels like Peter will be forced from the group entirely.

 

He doesn’t want them to break up, no, definitely not, but he wants, well, something from them that will make up for this unbalancing of the order that has held their lives together through seven tumultuous years.

 

Remus is invited to an interview at Oxford after they get their N.E.W.T. results. The interview includes a meal and provides overnight accommodation. They are all staying at James’s parents’ rambling pile in the Devon countryside that weekend; Sirius and Remus have said nothing to James and Peter about their relationship but it now feels transparent to Peter. Once Remus has left - after several hours of Sirius fussing around him at an increasingly more fevered pitch, and an extended time where neither could be found - Peter decides that he has been pushed to the limits of human kindness and makes his goal for the evening to extract a confession from Sirius.

 

Sirius is in such a state of nerves that even James picks up on it, which Peter appreciates, because sometimes getting James to where he wants him to be on a social situation is heavy lifting indeed.

 

‘Listen, mate,’ James says, pouring firewhisky from his parents’ special collection into three tumblers and passing them out, ‘what exactly is the problem?’

 

‘Nothing,’ Sirius says. He goes to down the liquid and James looks aghast. ‘What?’

 

‘This is for _sipping_ ,’ James says fiercely.

 

Sirius shrugs and downs it all. ‘I’ll sip the next,’ he gasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and coughing.

 

‘Can you believe this?’ James asks Peter.

 

‘Yes,’ Peter says. ‘That was completely predictable.’ He nails Sirius with his most innocently concerned look. ‘Why are you so worried about Remus’s interview? Do you know something we don’t?’

 

Sirius hesitates. That Sirius is having to formulate an answer rather than blurting out whatever is on his mind is a sign of his uncharacteristic caution on the matter. Peter takes careful note of it.

 

‘It’s just very important to him,’ Sirius says. ‘He needs top everything to succeed with the laws against Dark Creatures.’

 

‘He shouldn’t worry so much,’ James says airily. ‘Whatever happens, we’ll take care of him.’

 

‘He wouldn’t like that, though,’ Sirius says. ‘Anyway, it’s his dream to become a professor.’

 

‘At Hogwarts?’ James asks, looking startled. Peter wonders how James might have missed that. Remus has been preparing to be a professor from the day he met him.

 

‘Or somewhere else,’ Sirius says, and then hesitates, like he has something to add.

 

Peter notices that Sirius really wants to talk about Remus, so he decides to encourage him. ‘What kind of professor?’

 

‘He wants to study Dark Creatures,’ Sirius says immediately. ‘But not, you know, like they’re evil. He wants to know about how the wizarding world oppresses them and figure out how to fix it.’

 

Peter is certain that Sirius is quoting Remus verbatim; still, he’s impressed and a bit alarmed that Sirius knows all that because it suggests a confidence-sharing that Remus has never before shown to anyone, as far as Peter knows. Remus, the most cautious man in the world, is apparently in deep.

 

‘He told you that?’ James asks, and Peter thinks that maybe James is starting to get it too.

 

‘Well, I mean, we were just talking about future plans…’ Sirius trails off.

 

‘Last I heard, we were all going to live in your place together,’ James says, and Peter wants to cheer at James’s sudden realisation that Sirius and Remus are talking without him.

 

‘We will,’ Sirius says quickly. ‘Remus will always have a place there. But he might,’ and Sirius swallows, and Peter thinks that this is all too, too obvious, ‘get a room if he gets a scholarship. In Oxford. And he’d have to be there sometimes, it’s the rules, you have to sleep within a certain distance of this bell tower in the centre of town… But at weekends, and outside term time, he’d be at our place.’

 

Peter can see the quiet panic inside Sirius at this thought. He has to admit that Sirius is a good boyfriend. If Emmy was applying for something far away, he’s not sure he’d be so supportive. Luckily they will both be in London, and she’s going to let a flat with some friends not far from theirs.

 

(‘Though it’s a bit far,’ she’d said, holding his hand tightly. ‘How on earth can you afford to live in that neighbourhood?’

 

‘Sirius bought the place with some money from his Uncle,’ Peter had explained. ‘He’s hardly charging us much to live there at all.’

 

Emmy had sighed. ‘Why do you think Sirius is so lonely?’ Peter had shaken his head; some combination of childhood and neuroses, if he had to guess, but he doesn’t like to speculate too much.)

 

‘Well, it’ll be too bad if he’s not living there all the time,’ Peter prompts, hoping he’s not laying it on too thick.

 

‘It will be,’ James agrees. ‘It won’t be the same at all without him.’

 

Sirius sighs and twists his whisky glass around in his hands. Peter leans forward and pours him some more.

 

From there it is a simple enough trick to get everyone drunk, and Sirius the drunkest, and then Peter steers the conversation to the topic of women.

 

‘And what do you think, Padfoot?’ he asks, after James has raved about something Lily said for several minutes.

 

‘About Lily?’ Sirius asks, a bit blankly. ‘I mean, she’s all right, I suppose. Not terrible to talk to. Makes Prongs happy.’

 

Peter laughs. ‘No, I meant… do you fancy anyone?’

 

Sirius opens his mouth, then closes it again, hard. ‘No, not really.’ Peter pities him for being such a bad liar.

 

‘Not really?’ James asks, sitting up to attention.

 

Sirius looks truly alarmed. ‘No,’ he says, emphatically, damningly.

 

‘Who?’ James demands. ‘How long? Why haven’t you told us?’

 

‘No one,’ Sirius says. ‘Nothing. Never.’

 

‘You haven’t even talked about girls in…’ James stops, and Peter can see him counting off the months. ‘Forever.’

 

‘I never talk about girls,’ Sirius points out, which is true, though maybe not the argument he wants to advance, Peter thinks.

 

‘Why not? Don’t you trust us?’

 

‘I’m just not that interested!’

 

‘In girls?’

 

‘We’re not all like you, Prongs,’ Sirius snaps. ‘I have room in my head to think about other things.’

 

‘Like what?’ James demands.

 

‘Not girls?’ Peter suggests, and he can’t stop himself smirking. Sirius blinks at him, and there’s a moment of recognition there, and then Peter can see that Sirius is horrified.

 

‘I think about girls,’ Sirius says quickly. ‘I just don’t talk about them with you lot.’

 

‘But I talk about them with you!’

 

‘Peter doesn’t talk much about Emmeline,’ Sirius says. He won’t look at Peter.

 

‘I don’t want to be boring,’ Peter says. ‘We all know what James sounds like.’

 

‘Fuck you,’ James says amicably. ‘If you had a girl like Lily, you’d talk about her all the time…’

 

‘Hey, Emmy’s great!’

 

‘And you talked about Lily all the time long before you “had” her,’ Sirius says. Peter can sense that Sirius is desperately trying to change the subject. He’s not going to let it happen.

 

‘But surely you must fancy _someone_?’ he asks.

 

Sirius flicks his gaze to Peter, and his eyes are clearly pleading to not have this conversation. Peter considers it – truly – but then he thinks about all the times Sirius has done something carelessly cruel to him. He looks away from Sirius to James and says, ‘I don’t remember him ever saying he fancies anyone.’

 

James is squinting at Sirius. Sirius looks off to the side, puts his tumbler to his mouth to drink, seems to think better of it, and says, ‘What exactly do you want me to say?’

 

‘It’s all right if you don’t,’ James says, and Peter wants to curse him for being so nice, because they are so close to getting Sirius to admit to this. ‘It’s just… you’re acting like you’re keeping a secret.’

 

Sirius looks at Peter again. ‘What do _you_ want me to say?’

 

Peter shrugs. ‘I want you to admit it, I guess,’ he says. ‘Instead of lying about it.’

 

Sirius bites his lip. ‘But you know why I might lie about it.’

 

‘Sure,’ Peter says. ‘But, I mean, I don’t care. I mean, I don’t care if you fancy him. I care that you’re lying about it. To us.’ Is that it? Peter’s not entirely sure why he’s so upset about this, but that’s at least some of it. And it’s not like he can come out and say that Sirius and Remus getting together is making him feel like he’s not part of the friendship. Even contemplating admitting that makes him feel ill.

 

‘What?’ James asks. ‘Fancy him? _Him_? What are you talking about?’

 

Sirius raises his eyebrows at Peter. ‘You know it.’

 

‘I’m not going to say it for you,’ Peter says.

 

‘Why does Wormy know and not me?’ James demands.

 

‘Because I’m observant,’ Peter snaps.

 

‘I fancy Remus,’ Sirius says.

 

There’s a moment of complete silence. James goes from petulant to confused to stunned, the emotions playing over his face like cloud shadow over a field on a windy day. Sirius looks terrified. Peter feels suddenly very, very badly about how this has played out. The triumph he’d thought he’d feel isn’t there at all.

 

‘Remus?’ James says finally.

 

‘That’s the one,’ Sirius says. He swallows hard and puts down his tumbler. ‘And listen, James, he uhm, he fancies me too.’

 

‘Wait, really?’ James asks. ‘He does?’

 

Sirius nods.

 

‘Well that’s,’ James looks at Peter, ‘that’s brilliant, mate. Are you… have you…’

 

‘Yeah,’ Sirius says in a rush of air. ‘Yeah, it’s brilliant.’

 

‘You should have told us,’ James says sternly. ‘Did you think we wouldn’t…’

 

‘I know,’ Sirius says. ‘I know. I should have, we should have. It’s new. We’re just figuring it out.’

 

‘There’s four of us in this relationship,’ James says sternly, ‘and we’re going to need to communicate better,’ and they all start laughing, nervous tension dissipating.

 

The next morning, Sirius takes Peter aside and says, ‘Wormy, listen, thank you.’

 

‘For what?’

 

‘I’ve wanted to tell you all for ages,’ Sirius says. ‘I just, I didn’t know how. So thank you for forcing me to say it.’

 

Peter feels immensely guilty for weeks about that.

 

***

 

The first thing Peter says when he sees Remus at the new year is, ‘I can’t believe they got engaged.’

 

‘I know,’ Remus says, shaking his head and grinning. ‘After all those years, and all that pining, I truly can’t believe James got the girl.’

 

‘And that after being together six months they’re engaged!’ Peter points out, which is the thing that is really troubling him.

 

‘Feeling some pressure?’ Remus asks gently.

 

‘Emmy and I have been together much longer.’

 

‘But do you feel ready?’

 

Peter thinks. ‘No,’ he says, honestly. ‘Is that bad?’

 

‘No,’ Remus says.

 

‘What if you and Sirius could get married?’

 

Remus looks alarmed. ‘What?’

 

‘What if, I don’t know, one of you was a woman, and Sirius proposed to you right now?’

 

Remus laughs. ‘Thank god that’s not a possibility so I don’t even have to worry about it,’ he says.

 

‘Come on, that’s getting out of it.’

 

Remus shrugs. ‘I’m not even twenty,’ he says. ‘I’d need more time, I think.’

 

‘Sirius wouldn’t be happy to hear that,’ Peter points out.

 

‘Well,’ Remus says with a little smile, ‘luckily, he doesn’t have to.’

 

Remus can say that all he wants, Peter thinks later, but whether or not Remus wants to admit it, Peter thinks that he would marry Sirius in an instant if the opportunity were there. Peter wishes he could feel the same about Emmy. He loves her but the world is so uncertain; he can’t imagine it five years from now well enough to know if he’ll want her there. He envies James and Lily – that certainty, that security – so much it hurts.

***

 

The Order is having a Christmas party, but it feels like the last night before the end of the world.

 

Everyone seems to be on a mission to get apocalyptically drunk, and Peter, looking around at them all, sees only the holes where the dead are missing. He is panicking, and has somehow gotten separated from Remus and Sirius, who he was just necking from a bottle with a moment ago.

 

The party is at Gideon Prewett’s new house, whose rooms seem to multiply the drunker Peter gets, and he is trying to find Emmeline, or one of his friends, and is searching through room after room until they feel like a carnival funhouse.

 

‘Peter, have a drink with me!’ says someone, but he brushes past them, through another door, another room full of people he doesn’t want to bother to get to know that well, because they’ll all be murdered by Death Eaters soon.

 

Does it count as murder if they’re secret soldiers?

 

Who will remember any of them if they lose?

 

Why is everyone drinking like they know they’re going to lose?

 

Peter does a shot with Frank Longbottom, sees Alice asleep on a chair. Their baby must be home with Grandmother. Peter wonders if he’ll - she’ll? He can’t remember - have parents for much longer, or be consigned to a dusty childhood in Grandmother’s house.

 

Frank tries to press him for another but he remembers that it’s other people he wants, and he moves onward, eventually leaving the noise and heat of the party and walking unsteadily upstairs, fingers gripping the smooth wooden bannister for purchase and finding little. It is quiet up here, but there’s whispering or something like it coming from one of the bedrooms. Thinking that surely it must be one of the people he’s looking for, he pushes open the door.

 

Sirius and Remus leap apart - or more accurately, Remus shoves Sirius back, who stumbles and nearly falls into a dresser - and their clothes are in disarray and they both look first horrified, then guilty, then relieved.

 

Peter feels unreasonably annoyed with them; did they ditch him to do this? ‘You might as well do it downstairs, you’re not exactly subtle when you’re drunk,’ he snaps, hoping it hurts, and leaves them, still looking for Emmeline. He sees them the next day when someone wants to take a photo of the Order and Remus stands nearly on the opposite side of the room from them, ignoring Sirius’s hurt looks. Peter, guiltily, feels a little bit elated. He and Emmy had ended the night with a row about where she’d gone - she’d just been outside talking to Marlene but they’d both shut up right away when he’d come out and anyway why had she ditched him too? - and they’re not speaking either. He wants them to know that it’s not fair that they have this easy love; it’s not fair to rub it in his face. He also knows that that’s a very shitty thing to think.

 

Increasingly, he’s not sure if he cares.

 

***

How the Dark Lord gets to him, in the end, is not a very interesting story. There’s no dramatic moment or shocking incident; he’s not captured, or tortured; no one he loves dies; instead, he is sitting beside Remus, watching him as he mutters an incantation over small vials which he has filled with a conflagration potion of their own devising that they call Greek fire, just before they toss them down into a room full of Inferi.

 

He is, of course, scared shitless. He has been for months, years, what feels like a decade, since he met these three and left the safety of his parents’ shop, since before that even, since death took his dad when he was just a lad and left him to be the man in the family. He’s been a thoroughly disappointing man, he thinks, as Remus lays down the vials on an unfolded strip of leather and runs his wand over them, the final step in a potion they never quite perfected, this added incantation to try to prevent them from exploding too soon. The smell of the Inferi is brutal, so they both have rags stuffed in their noses, and Remus is having a hard time with the incantation because of how nasal he sounds. It is comically absurd and deathly serious. It is this fucking war.

 

And so, Peter is frightened in a way that makes him not a rational thinker, and yet, from the outside, he knows rationally that he is not being rational. After they throw the vials, he leaves. He tells Remus later that he chased a fleeing Death Eater but in reality once he is out of Remus’s line of sight, he slows to a walk and practically strolls away from the scene. He’s never once left a Marauder in a fight and it feels like a revelation. He isn’t chained to their sides. He can save himself if he needs to. He starts deserting more and more, and it feels great: he isn’t responsible for whatever happens if he isn’t there. His stories are believable - he’s a good liar, and what’s more, the people who love him want to believe him - and sometimes he even gets caught up in his own stories and starts to believe them too.

 

The winter before the Dark Lord orphans Harry, Sirius’s brother Regulus is murdered by Death Eaters; this is quite a surprise as they’d all believed he was one himself. Sirius speculates that his little brother had fucked up in some way but no one really knows. Whatever the reason, Sirius goes a little - ok, well, Peter thinks, _a lot_ \- crazy afterwards. Going on any kind of patrol with him feels like a death sentence, because he has become almost suicidally impulsive, rushing into danger without hesitation. Remus’s perpetually worried look deepens. Lily tells Peter that something has to be done or Sirius is going to get himself killed. It’s such an absurd statement, given the kinds of things they face near-daily now, that they both burst into laughter a beat after she says it.

 

Shortly after Regulus’s death, two Ministry officials seek out Peter on the grounds that they believe he is involved with a ‘suspected paramilitary force’ that is ‘intent upon undermining the authority of the Minister for Magic’. They come to his house and appeal to him as a fellow Pureblood; when he isn’t entirely responsive to that tactic, they threaten to have him tried for ‘terrorist acts’. Peter is terrified throughout the entire encounter, too terrified, in fact, to send his Patronus to Emmeline for help. On his way out the door, having asked for nothing but another audience, one of the officials pauses to pick up a photo of the two of them that is on a bookshelf by the door. He says nothing, just looks at it for a long moment before replacing it carefully and taking his leave, but his intent feels very clear to Peter.

 

He Apparates to Remus and Sirius’s and tells them the whole story. They both listen carefully, Remus from his seat at the kitchen table, unreadable (to Peter) runes on a long parchment spread out before him, and Sirius as he stalks around the kitchen, picking up and putting down all manner of objects, before Remus looks at him and he stops instantly, yanks out a chair with some violence, and sits in it, practically vibrating.

 

‘They know about the Order,’ Peter says. ‘They sounded like next time they’d be doing more than “just asking questions”.’

 

‘Why you, I wonder?’ Remus murmurs.

 

‘Fuck them,’ Sirius says contemptuously.

 

Peter loses it. ‘No, Sirius, fuck _you_ ,’ he snaps, voice rising. ‘They’re not going to show up at your fucking door hinting at Azkaban. They showed up at mine because they know I’m the weak link here -’

 

‘Peter,’ Remus says, but Sirius just blinks, and Peter wants to hurt him.

 

‘-Or they’ll show up at your boyfriend’s door,’ he snarls. ‘You know, drum up some of that anti-werewolf sentiment, it’s running high already with that monster Greyback roaming around -’

 

‘You’re right about that,’ Remus says. ‘He’s right,’ he adds to Sirius, shrugging. Sirius’s mouth is set in a hard line, the corners twitching.

 

‘So what do you want?’ he demands.

 

Peter takes a deep breath. Honestly? He wants out. He has done for months. But he can’t be honest, not with them, which is a crushing realisation - two of his three best friends, and he has to lie to them, because they would never be his friends if they knew how he feels. ‘To complain to you about it,’ he says. ‘To have a whinge.’

 

Sirius barks a laugh and Remus tips back on his chair to reach into the cupboard. He pulls out a bottle of firewhisky. ‘Let’s drink to that.’  

 

***

One of the Ministry employees comes back a week later, but not in an official capacity - at least, not for the Ministry. He offers Peter a deal. If Peter meets with him weekly and tells him what is going on with the Order, he won’t murder him in his sleep. To show his trust, he gives Peter a few hours to think about it.

 

Peter goes home and looks at his flat. Emmeline’s things are strewn about it - even though she’s never officially moved in, she might as well have done - and he realises that he will have to break up with her. Funny how it doesn’t even hurt; it’s just another thing to tick off in the long cold road ahead. He cleans up her things, arranges them in a neat pile, and waits for her to come home.

 

He’s always known she could do better; now here’s her chance.

 

***

 

It takes them until June to know there’s a spy. There’s one too many raids gone wrong, Death Eaters in unlikely places, and then there’s a flurry of encryption changes, protocol changes, reporting changes… only Dumbledore receives reports now. People are not allowed to discuss their activities with others. And Peter, accordingly, stops having much information to pass to the Death Eaters. Anything he could tell them would be about his own activities, and would point directly to him. They already have it narrowed down – there are fifteen, maybe twenty possibilities based on events.

 

He’s in too deep and he knows it. Sometimes at night he goes home and transfigures and spends the night hiding under the furniture as a rat, tiny, shaking, wishing he could disappear.

 

He convinces himself that the only way to survive is to cast suspicion on others. He knows of three people, at least, who he can manipulate, and two of them who will be very receptive to it. He has watched them for a decade now and he knows how they work. Both have outside circumstances – Sirius, his family, and Remus, his lycanthropy – that can cause significant tension. And neither is in any way capable of being rational or objective about the other.

 

Peter and the other Marauders see each other very often; they act as a support network for each other when loved ones are away on missions. They also do a lot of Harry-sitting.  

 

So, one night when he and Sirius are eating takeaway curry: ‘What are Remus’s secret missions about, anyway?’ he asks, and Sirius shakes his head and shrugs. ‘Doesn’t he tell you?’

 

‘He can’t,’ Sirius says. It is obvious how much this distresses him.

 

‘Oh,’ Peter says, ‘I mean, sure, Professor Dumbledore says that, but Emmeline and I used to tell each other everything. And James and Lily tell each other everything. So I just thought…’ He leaves it hanging. Sirius is biting his lip.

 

And when he and Remus are watching Harry: ‘You should have seen Sirius at the pub last night.’

 

‘Oh?’ Remus asks. He’d had to leave, called away on urgent business.

 

‘He just walked off into the rain after you left.’ Remus looks up at him. ‘Just walked straight out the door, didn’t say goodbye to anyone.’

 

Remus hesitates. ‘He’s…’

 

‘I know,’ Peter says quickly. ‘He’s so worried. I think he’s driving himself mad with this spy business, trying to figure out who it is.  He’s always distracted, always wandering off and not talking to anyone.  At meetings he just sits there, doesn’t say a word—he’s completely changed since we found out there was a spy.’

 

Remus looks at him for a long moment. Peter is scared he’s gone too far – Sirius is much easier to play than Remus. But then Remus says, ‘Peter… Do you think he’s changed since Regulus died?’

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

Remus takes a deep breath. ‘I just think…’ He pauses, seems to steel himself. ‘Maybe he has regrets about his family. About not being closer to them.’

 

This is an unexpected windfall. Peter puts on his most clueless, worried voice. ‘Has he said anything like that to you?’

 

‘No,’ Remus says quickly. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. ‘He won’t… he’s not telling me how much he’s grieving for Regulus. But I know he is, and I know it’s a lot.’ Remus gives Peter an almost pleading look. ‘When they were boys, Regulus was his only thing at all like a friend. You have no idea… it was so hard for him growing up in that house.’

 

Peter nods, very sympathetically. ‘We just have to give him some time and space, I guess,’ he says. ‘But I am worried about him.’

 

Remus nods. ‘Me too.’

 

And the time Sirius is at James and Lily’s, and they are all sitting up waiting for Remus, who is out on some mission he can tell no one about (of course) but is hours overdue, and Sirius is clearly on the edge of panic. Peter is holding Harry, bouncing him gently. When James and Lily step out of the room, he leans towards Sirius and says, ‘Don’t be worried. I know Remus can take care of himself.’

 

Sirius flicks his eyes to Peter. ‘Can he?’ he asks. ‘What if he’s dead in an alley, what if…’

 

‘There’s signals for that,’ Peter says. ‘We’d know.’

 

Sirius takes a deep breath. ‘Why is he so late, Peter?’

 

‘Anything could have happened,’ Peter says. ‘He could have met someone else, he could have run into another Dark Creature wanting to talk… you know he knows a lot of the ones in London from his research…’

 

‘What would they talk about?’ Sirius asks.

 

Peter shrugs. ‘No idea. How the Ministry is shit to them?’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Honestly, it’s a wonder Remus even fights for their side, given how shit the Ministry is.’

 

‘We’re not on the Ministry’s side,’ Sirius says, frowning. ‘We’re on our side.’

 

‘Right,’ Peter says quickly. ‘But I just meant, it’s not like things are going to get better for him if our side wins.’ He sees Sirius’s look and amends quickly, ‘When our side wins.’

 

Sirius puts his head in his hands and whispers, ‘Where is he, Peter?’ And when Remus does appear, another hour later, filthy, with no good explanation, Peter thinks he can see that Sirius has his doubts.  

 

And another time, Peter and Remus are both in headquarters, when they realise that they need to send someone out immediately. A Dark Mark has been seen over the Prewetts’.

‘Who should we send?’ Remus asks, frantically scanning the list of available names. There seems to be only one: ‘Sirius?’

Peter senses an opening. ‘I… no… I mean…’

‘What?’ Remus looks up at him, confused.

‘It’s up to you, Remus,’ Peter says quickly. ‘You’re a better wizard than I am.’ He pauses, then lets it slip: ‘But we can’t trust Sirius.’

Remus blinks. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ He’s practically baring his teeth.

Peter, scared, and knowing he looks it, says, ‘I mean, not, not that we can’t trust him. He’s just been, acting, I don’t know, he’s just so… worried.  He can’t…’ He can see Remus watching him closely, but listening. ‘He’s got so much on his mind already, he was just out last night, I just don’t think we can give him another responsibility tonight.’ He pauses. He has Remus, he can tell. He decides to sink the knife in further. ‘You know—of course you know—what happened when he was… when we were…’

Peter leaves it hanging, because he knows Remus will fill in the spaces for him: Sirius’s one and only previous betrayal, telling Snape where to find Remus on the night of a full moon. It is foul play to bring it up, because it had nearly destroyed things between the four of them once and they’d made it through that and don’t talk about it anymore. But Peter knows that none of them have forgotten, least of all Remus, what Sirius can do when pushed.

Remus turns away. Peter waits a beat, then says, ‘It’s up to you, really. You’re a better wizard than I am-’

Remus turns back, shaking his head. ‘Stop saying that,’ he says, sounding infinitely weary.

‘It’s true.’

‘It’s not,’ Remus says. ‘Just because Sirius and James always acted like it when we were at school doesn’t mean anything.  You remember how they were.’

Of course Peter remembers how they were; it’s part of the reason why he can justify doing this. But it feels like a stab in the gut to hear Remus say it. ‘Thanks,’ he says quietly. He reaches out, genuine, and touches Remus’s arm. ‘Thank you, really, Remus. You’ve been the best friend I ever could have asked for.’

‘Stop talking like we’re going to die,’ Remus says, clearly unnerved.

‘I just want you to know that,’ Peter says doggedly, and he really, really does. ‘In case it’s ever too late.’

‘It’s not going to be,’ Remus snaps, and then he pulls out a piece of parchment and presses his wand to it, the magical information about the placement of the Dark Mark flowing out of it and into the paper. He’s come up with some new system of hiding their writing within the fibers of parchment and it’s ingenious. Right now, Peter wishes desperately that he hadn’t had to tell his Death Eater contact exactly how they do it.

Remus does not send the letter to Sirius.

***

Early October, and Peter and Remus are down in the cold mud, hiding behind an outbuilding of an enormous manor house, unable to Apparate and hiding from Death Eaters.

 

‘I’m so fucking scared,’ Remus says, teeth chattering, with cold or fear, Peter doesn’t know, and it takes him a second to process what Remus has just said - _scared? Remus?!_

 

‘You are?’ he asks, shocked enough that he almost forgets their situation. ‘But…’

 

‘Of course I am,’ Remus says. He leans his head back against the barn wall. ‘Aren’t you?’

 

Peter hesitates. Remus turns his head to look at him, his dark eyes searching Peter’s face, earnest, honest, and Peter feels suddenly reckless. ‘All the time,’ he says.

 

‘Me too,’ Remus says, and he turns his head back, wand suddenly ready in his hand, and a second later they have to run for it, because the Death Eaters are rounding the corner. Later, Peter thinks about him saying it and regret blooms in him for the choice he’s made - if Remus is scared all the time too, then why is Remus still on this side?

 

***

James makes them sit at his parents’ – now his, by inheritance – dining room table. It feels immensely solemn. It is just the four of them, and later, Peter will remember that it was the last time they were all together alone, just the Marauders, no wife or baby or other Order members.

 

There’s wine on the table but no one has bothered to open it. James looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, months, and it is not the kind of sleepless new-baby euphoria of just over a year ago. Peter will later wonder if this face is how James looked in death, pale and glassy-eyed.

 

Remus and Sirius sit side by side, and Peter knows that if he looked under the table their hands would be clenched together, white-knuckled, in Remus’s lap.

 

Peter also knows that James had summoned Sirius at some point yesterday for reasons he could not relate – Remus had come to see Peter, anxious – and that Sirius has been sequestered with James ever since. The two of them had used their Patronuses to summon Peter and Remus just a few minutes ago.

 

(‘To the Potters’?’ Peter had said, confused. ‘James never… not since his parents…’

 

‘It has old protections,’ Remus had replied. ‘It must. Come on.’

 

They’d had to Apparate to nearby and walk up the road. Sirius had been waiting for them at the stile that led onto the property, an unreadable look on his face. He had led them to James, in the old hall, seated at the long table, looking like the last scion of a once noble and now fallen house. It is a role meant for Sirius but one that James plays surprisingly well tonight.)

 

It is near midnight, and the candles are guttering. The house feels cold and abandoned, like the black edges of the room would move in on them if not carefully watched.

 

At some signal from James, Sirius says, without preamble, ‘Lily and James need to ask something of us. A favour.’

 

‘Anything,’ Remus says at once, and Peter echoes him. He glances at James; he has his head in his hands.

 

Sirius takes a deep breath. Peter has the impression that he is holding himself together by sheer force of will. He has no idea what this is about, but his heart is suddenly racing.

 

‘Professor Dumbledore has told James and Lily that they have to go into hiding,’ he says. ‘They are in grave danger from Voldemort himself.’ He swallows and his next words are barely above a whisper. ‘Professor Dumbledore believes that Voldemort has reason to try to murder Harry.’

 

James makes a sobbing noise from behind his hands; Sirius reaches out to him and grasps one of his hands tightly.

 

‘We’re not going to let that happen,’ he says, voice stronger.

 

‘No,’ Remus breathes. ‘We’re not.’

 

Peter can’t speak. He feels like he’s running. James’s shoulders are shaking. _Not Harry_ , Peter thinks. _Please, not Harry_.

 

‘We have a plan,’ Sirius says firmly. ‘We have a plan.’ He squeezes James’s hand hard and James makes a muffled noise from behind his other hand.

 

‘Tell us what to do,’ Remus says immediately. Peter manages to nod but he can feel dark thoughts lurking in the back of his mind and there is nothing, nothing at all, that he can do to stop them.

 

This is information that the Dark Lord would pay for handsomely. Maybe they would stop following him, stop leaving him intimidating messages like small dead animals – rodents, always – on his windowsill. Maybe he could have a full night’s sleep again. Maybe he could see Emmy again.

 

Part of him knows that the terror will never end, that with a man like the Dark Lord there is no final bargaining chip, no way he can buy himself out of this unending horror.

 

But he wants so badly to believe, to have hope – that if this is what the Dark Lord wants so much, then the man who delivers it to him might gain some measure of freedom…

 

‘We need a Secret Keeper,’ Sirius says. ‘One of us. We’re not sure who. I’m too obvious, maybe. We’re trying to decide.’

 

Remus looks swiftly at Peter. ‘Which of us…?’

 

‘You decide,’ James croaks. ‘One of you. We don’t know. We don’t know which is best.’

 

Peter sees it: how to get the information that will make him safe.

 

He also sees this: around a table, four people bound to each other by ties stronger than blood, a chosen family, who have fought for and bled for and protected one another for a decade and vowed to do so for a lifetime.

 

He thinks, fleetingly, of Emmy.

 

And, inevitably, he knows that he will give this up too.

 

***

He deliberately finds Remus later, when they have all separated to think for a few hours. ‘Listen,’ he says, ‘it should be you.’

 

Remus has gone for a walk alone on the grounds. It is freezing cold and spitting rain. Peter has his cloak pulled as tightly around himself as he can, but Remus stands with his open, his head uncovered, hair soaked and windblown. He seems almost too lost in thought to be concerned with the materiality of the moment. Peter is not, but he wishes that he could be.

 

‘Should it?’ Remus asks. ‘I’m not…’ He hesitates.

 

‘You’re a much better wizard than I am.’

 

Remus shakes his head doggedly; this old argument. Peter knows Remus will rise to his defence. ‘That’s not…’

 

‘The only reason it makes sense for me to do it rather than you is if you’re worried about the full moon,’ Peter continues. ‘But you’d be insensible then. And unapproachable.’

 

Remus looks up at him, and Peter knows he has won. Remus doesn’t trust himself; there’s no way he’s going to let others trust him.

 

Peter feels strangely empowered; like he’s killed his feelings and all he’s left with inside of himself is a black hole.

 

***

When he finds Sirius, he has a different mission entirely.

 

Sirius is upstairs, in his old bedroom at the Potters’. It is very dark and very cold in the room. Sirius is sitting cross-legged on the bed, twisting his wand in his hands.

 

‘I think you’re right,’ Peter says. ‘I think you’re too obvious.’

 

Sirius says, ‘So what if I am?’

 

‘So if they capture you and kill you, the Fidelius Charm is broken.’

 

Sirius swallows. ‘Peter,’ he says quietly. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

 

‘It should be Remus,’ Peter suggests. ‘He’s a great wizard. Top of our class in Defence. Calm. Steady. Rational.’

 

Sirius shakes his head. ‘Peter…’

 

‘What?’

 

‘I don’t know if I can trust him,’ Sirius whispers.

 

Peter has to clench his hands into fists inside his robes to contain the unnameable emotion that springs up inside of him. ‘Sirius,’ he gasps.

 

‘I know,’ Sirius says, and his voice breaks. ‘Peter, I know, I know, but I can’t…’

 

‘Why not?’ Peter asks, coming to sit on the bed beside him. He puts a hand on Sirius’s knee, trying to calm him down. A part of him – his heart, he supposes – is fracturing at seeing Sirius so miserable. But another part of him is quietly triumphant. He’s done it; he’s outsmarted them all.

 

‘I love him so much,’ Sirius whispers. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and takes a deep breath. ‘I can’t be objective. I can’t be rational. If I try to even think that he’s the spy… I can’t. But if I make a list, if I check who it could be...’ Peter’s heart stops. ‘It can’t be James and Lily. I know it’s not me. And it can’t be you.’ … and restarts… ‘And it can’t be him. But I can’t think about him the way I think about you three. So it must be him. The one I can’t approach logically.’ He takes away his hands and looks at Peter so bleakly that Peter wants to cry. ‘He’s said it himself, the Ministry has nothing to offer Dark Creatures. He has always had a strong mission to do what’s right for them, to gain rights for them…’

 

‘Sirius,’ Peter says, ‘Remus is not the spy.’ Even telling the truth to tell a greater lie relieves some of the awful pressure inside himself. ‘You’re being ridiculous. It’s none of us. It must be someone else. Frank, or Alice, or, or, I don’t know…’

 

Sirius is crying, a kind of terrible silent crying, where his eyes and cheeks are perpetually wet but he’s not making a sound. Peter has seen Sirius cry before, but never like this. He seems to be beyond all hope. Then he surprises Peter by reaching for his hands; he takes them and holds them very tightly in his own, which are ice cold. ‘Peter.’

 

‘Yes?’ Peter asks, terrified. What does Sirius know?

 

‘Wormtail.’ It’s not a question.

 

‘Padfoot, what?’ Peter asks. He squeezes Sirius’s hands back, trying to disguise how much his are shaking.

 

‘We won’t tell Remus, but you should be the Secret Keeper.’

 

***

 

He didn’t know Voldemort would die.

 

They will come after him. Not all of them, but some of them. Bellatrix will come after him.

 

And Sirius. Sirius knows.

 

Someone is banging at the door. Peter wants to die. He wants the moment to come, right now, and to not have to feel anything anymore.

 

‘Peter!’

 

It’s Remus. What does he know? Peter creeps to the door, shaking violently, and undoes just one lock. ‘Remus?’ he whispers.

 

‘Have you heard?’

 

‘About….’

 

‘They’re dead, Peter.’

Peter thinks he won’t be able to say it, but then he has to, and he does. ‘James and Lily and Harry.’

Remus sounds more upset than he has ever heard him before. ‘Peter…’

Peter forces himself to continue. ‘And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is defeated…’

‘Peter…’ There is something else in his voice… what does he know?

 

Terrified beyond what he had ever thought possible, he asks, ‘What?’

Remus’s voice breaks. ‘Sirius was their Secret Keeper.’

Relief, sickening, cloying, miserable relief washes through him. He undoes the locks all at once and opens the door. Remus collapses through it and Peter catches him and hugs him as tightly as he can bear. ‘Remus, I’m so sorry,’ he gasps, and he means it.  

Remus clutches Peter’s arms. He has a manic look that Peter has never seen before. ‘Peter, I have no idea what to do.’

A plan springs fully formed into Peter’s head. He can escape. He can survive this too. ‘We have to find Sirius,’ he announces.

 

Remus blinks. ‘What?’

 

‘We have to find him before the Aurors do.’

‘Why?’

Peter draws back. One more time, he has to play this right. Then he can disappear forever. ‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’

Remus is clearly lost. ‘I…’ 

Peter makes his voice as strong as he can. ‘Sirius is - he was - our best friend, Remus. Aside from everything else to you. And I don’t for a second believe that he has been against us all this time.’

 

‘No,’ Remus whispers.

 

Peter knows he has him. ‘I want to find him. I want to know why he did this to James and Lily.’

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says quietly. Peter can tell that he’s glad to have direction. ‘All right.’

 

‘Let’s split up,’ Peter says. This is vital. ‘I don’t know where he’ll go but… we’ll find him faster that way.’

 

Remus does not have to know – will never know – that Sirius is hunting Peter. When he finds him, in the street, Peter feels everything around him go still. He will do anything he can to not be Sirius’s prey. He does not care what cost it exacts. He screams at Sirius, voice wavering out of control, ‘James and Lily, Sirius! How could you?’ and then he releases the most powerful magic he has ever done and scampers away into the sewers, the remains of his finger bleeding freely, away, away, as far away as he can run.

 

***

 

Even then, fear consumes him. He gets into a wizarding household to keep an ear out for news. He never transfigures back to human, so terrified is he of being found. Sirius is in Azkaban and Remus is god knows where and Voldemort’s supporters are rounded up or cleared of suspicion and still he waits, often not sure for what, often forgetting what it is he’s waiting for, just knowing that he lives in fear.

 

Sirius’s return only amplifies the desperate feeling he has had for twelve years. Sirius is the personification of a dog with a bone and Peter knows he’s the bone.

 

It feels inevitable, in the Shrieking Shack, when Sirius and Remus look at each other – when Sirius asks, ‘Together?’ and Remus says, ‘I think so…’ – Peter realises in a second that putting the crux of his plan on tearing these two apart was his greatest mistake. He feels the transfiguration take him and then he is human again, for the first time in countless years.

 

It does not feel good.

 

He looks at Remus and Sirius. Time has not been kind to either of them – Remus’s face is lined, his hair salt-and-pepper, new scars on his neck and hands, and Sirius, well, Sirius is a horror compared to the handsome young man he’d been, all stringy hair and skeletal cheekbones and burning eyes. Peter hates to think what he looks like himself now, but it doesn’t really matter. He looks quickly at Harry – like James is in the room, really, James who never had a chance to age _and that’s my fault_ …

 

‘Well, hello, Peter. Long time, no see.’ Remus says, and he sounds pleasant; Peter is chilled to the bone because he hears the fury beneath it. Remus was always the scariest of them when pressed.

 

‘S -- Sirius... R -- Remus...’ What choice does he have? Does Remus believe Sirius? Peter looks at the door again – so close… ‘My friends... my old friends...’

 

Sirius takes it as a taunt and raises his wand arm but Remus seizes his wrist and gives him another look that stops him immediately – _god, they haven’t changed at all, have they?_ – and Remus says, still in that pleasant tone, ‘We've been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed –‘

 

Remus was always a good friend, always, and maybe there’s a chance… ‘Remus, you don't believe him, do you...? He tried to kill me, Remus...’

 

‘So we've heard,’ Remus says, and Peter knows the game is up. Remus is Sirius’s, forever and ever, and whatever Peter says, Remus will believe Sirius over him. And then there’s the matter of it being the truth… ‘I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you'll be so –‘

 

Peter can’t, he can’t do this, why won’t they just kill him and end it? He remembers Sirius’s face on that day, in the middle of the street; there had been no trace of the decade of friendship between them anywhere. No regret, no second thought, no question as to why Peter might have done this – just fury, cold and clear as the morning air. And now Remus. All these years, he was nothing to either of them. They don’t care at all for his reasons – they were good reasons! He was never as brave as they were! How could they expect him to be? ‘He's come to try and kill me again!’ he says, voice wavering out of control, trying to force their hand, trying to make them just end it. ‘He killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me too.... You've got to help me, Remus....’

 

‘No one's going to try and kill you until we've sorted a few things out,’ says Remus.

 

‘Sorted things out?’ Peter is near tears now, trying to make Remus see how hard this has been for him. ‘I knew he'd come after me! I knew he'd be back for me! I've been waiting for this for twelve years!’

 

They go back and forth – the children get involved – Sirius tells the story of how he got out of prison and Peter curses himself again because he’d believed Sirius, who has always been emotional, volatile, _girly_ if he had to really say it, at least how he acted about Remus – would have crumbled in Azkaban and yet here he is, burning with the same intensity as ever, and here Peter is, reduced to begging as Harry – James’s son, his lookalike, with Lily’s eyes shining strangely from behind his thick glasses – turns away from him – Sirius and then Remus, and they are looking only at each other, they are forgiving each other, and he hates them for it, and then even the other children… no one will ever forgive him… He watches Sirius and Remus, who have eyes for no one but each other, even when it comes to the matter of killing him.

 

When he is able to escape, he is consumed by a burning hatred for them. He hopes Remus runs out of the Forest and murders someone; he hopes Sirius gets the Dementor’s Kiss because he, Peter, ran away.

 

Peter runs until he finds the Dark Lord, a desperate need for vengeance in his heart.

 

***

It was probably not his best move, in retrospect, and it is clear that the Dark Lord has no real use for him once he has played his part in the resurrection. Loyal – really, unbelievably loyal – service for months and this is what he receives? Ultimately sent to lurk in Snape’s home, a miserable and unwanted houseguest of someone who truly hates him?

 

‘I don’t hate you,’ Snape says, and Peter remembers that he’s a master Occlumens and curses himself. ‘You’re beneath contempt.’

 

But what is a rat to do? He has nothing left in this life except to try to make the best of this situation. Someday this war will end, and hopefully he’ll be on the right side of it.

 

Then his fellow Death Eaters murder Emmeline.

 

He had forgotten… not about her, exactly, but about what it felt like to care about her. Seeing her name in the Prophet brings up a lot of painful and, frankly, unwanted emotions. She’s listed as a textbook editor, beloved by Miranda Goshawk, and the killing as random, but Peter reads between the lines and surmises that she was working for the Order. Upset, he goes to speak to the Dark Lord. His audience does not go well.

 

Voldemort sighs dramatically and looks at his wand. ‘Am I to be constantly deluged by mediocre wizards crying about their dead school girlfriends?’

 

Peter has no idea who he could be referring to. ‘I’m not crying,’ he says, trying to be resolute. ‘I just wanted to, well, to register my protest.’

 

‘Noted,’ Voldemort says, obviously bored. ‘Now go.’

 

Peter wants to say something more, but his courage fails him. He turns and leaves. Bellatrix follows him into the hall and smiles sweetly. Peter instantly recognizes that he is being stalked. ‘She fought until the last, you know. She didn’t give in. Even when I had plucked out one of her pretty blue eyeballs.’

 

Peter stares at her, stomach churning. ‘Why are telling me this?’

 

Bellatrix bites her lip and smiles. ‘To remind you that she was brave, and you are not.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you aren't familiar with the Jamie T song "Peter", I highly recommend it. I hear it a lot in my head when I am writing this character: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWA7dGGWOBw


	21. Harry's Sixth Year, Winter, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another very long chapter I split in two. Part II will be on its way shortly.

The morning after Remus finally feels human again, Sirius cooks him breakfast while he goes through the enormous pile of correspondence that has arrived in his absence.

 

‘I’m going to see Albus tomorrow,’ he says, looking up from a reply as Sirius adds some tea to his cup. ‘He wants to hear about the mission.’

 

Sirius considers this. ‘Are you meeting him at Hogwarts?’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

‘You should say hello to Harry.’

 

Remus cocks his head. ‘Is that allowed?’

 

Sirius shrugs and slides into the seat beside him. ‘I don’t see why not.’

 

Remus reaches towards the stack of blank parchment and Sirius passes him one. ‘That’ll be lovely.’

 

Sirius watches him write for a moment. ‘Anything crucial you need to do today?’

 

‘Beyond dying before I reach the bottom of this stack of letters? I don’t think so. You?’

 

‘Umm,’ Sirius thinks. ‘I need to meet Molly, but not until late afternoon. We’re testing something. You should come see it. But, well,’ he pauses and gives Remus an apologetic face. ‘It was very sweet of you to buy me a wand…’

 

‘Oh god,’ Remus says. ‘I completely forgot.’

 

Sirius’s original wand had been confiscated and broken the day they took him to Azkaban, so when he’d come back, Remus had gone to Ollivander’s and pretended to have broken his own to acquire a new one. It works well enough – Remus had done a good job of replicating Sirius’s style of magic when testing it – but it could be a lot better.

 

‘We have to get you a new one,’ Remus says. ‘You can’t keep going into dangerous situations with that one.’

 

‘Exactly,’ Sirius says. ‘But Ollivander is gone…’

 

‘I know,’ Remus says. ‘But there will be someone in Diagon Alley.’

 

‘Want to come with me?’ Sirius asks hopefully.

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says without hesitation. ‘We haven’t spent time together in ages. We haven’t been in London together since the battle at the Ministry.’

 

After breakfast, they Apparate into Diagon Alley. Many people are afraid to come here now; the public Apparition point, which Sirius remembers from times past as being crowded enough that he could expect someone to Apparate on top of him if he wasn’t being quick, is empty.

 

Ollivander’s is open, but the man behind the desk is not Ollivander.

 

‘I am – was – his apprentice,’ he says. ‘Carmine Michaelson.’ He shakes Sirius and Remus’s hands and then sits again at the desk. 'Mr Black, you know that Mr Ollivander was expecting you. If I'm not mistaken, you've been using a wand that is not your own.'

 

Sirius is startled. ‘Kind of him to have thought of me, I suppose,’ he says. ‘But, under the circumstances -'

 

'Oh, yes, of course,' Carmine replies. 'Mr Ollivander was not concerned with the justice system.’ He waves a hand, as if all the murder charges against Sirius were nothing. ‘He was concerned with you using an incorrect wand. Spoke of it often, if we’re honest. And now that your name is cleared, we must get you one that is correct for you.'

 

Sirius doesn’t really know what to say to that. 'Thank you.’

 

'Can you do me a favour?' Carmine asks. He gestures behind his desk; high bookshelves stacked with identical thick books and labelled by year loom over him. 'Find the year you matriculated at Hogwarts and bring the book to me.'

 

Sirius looks up at the shelves - and then further up - until he spots it. He makes a horrified face at Remus, who turns away, stifling a giggle.

 

'It's been rather a long time, has it?' Carmine asks.

 

Sirius climbs up the ladder and retrieves the book. The thought flashes through his mind that it contains records on all of them - Remus's, James's, and Peter's wands will be in here as well. He hands it to Carmine, not really wanting to see.

 

‘Hmm, yes,’ Carmine says, and then he retrieves five boxes of wands and starts handing them to Sirius to try.

 

Forty minutes later, Sirius hands over twelve Galleons for his new wand. It feels _right_ in his hand. Like maybe he could even conjure a Patronus again…

 

Carmine steps to get the door for them and then stops, hand on the knob, ‘Listen,’ he says quietly, ‘I know that you’re close to Dumbledore. If there’s any way you can help find Mr Ollivander…’

 

‘We’re working on it,’ Remus says gently. ‘We’ll do all that we can.’

 

‘It’s not like him to be gone like this,’ Carmine says, a note of urgency in his voice.

 

‘Do you have any idea about what might have happened to him?’ Remus asks.

 

Carmine shakes his head. ‘Nothing real,’ he says. ‘But Mr Ollivander knew so much wandlore, I have to think that just the information he had in his head would be valuable to someone.’

 

Remus nods thoughtfully and looks at Sirius. ‘We’ll pass that idea on,’ Sirius says to Carmine. ‘Thank you so much.’

 

Carmine nods. ‘Thank _you_ ,’ he says, and opens the door.

 

They leave Diagon Alley quickly, exiting through the Leaky Cauldron into Muggle London. It is shockingly sunny and even a little bit warm after months of rain and darkness. Sirius is still gawking up at the sunny sky when Remus reaches out and takes his hand.

 

In broad daylight. In the middle of the street in London. Sirius looks over at him, wide-eyed.

 

‘When are you meeting Molly?’ Remus asks, tugging Sirius closer and seemingly ignoring his look.

 

‘Mm, like three or four,’ Sirius says, voice coming out a little higher pitched than he’d intended. ‘Is this all right? Can we do this now?’

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says. ‘And if someone says something, I’ll punch them in the face.’

 

Sirius finds that he is grinning uncontrollably. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘Well.’

 

‘I fancy getting tea somewhere,’ Remus says.

 

‘Where?’ Sirius steps a little closer. No one seems to be staring, or pointing, or shouting. His heart beat is slowly returning to normal.

 

‘Let’s go to that café in the courtyard at the V&A,’ Remus suggests. ‘It’s the middle of the week, hopefully it won’t be overrun by tourists.’

 

They stroll across central London, hand in hand, and all Sirius sees is the occasional smile. It’s shocking what fifteen years can do to the public consciousness. Sirius has never been _out_ like this before and it is incredible. In the museum’s ornate courtyard, they buy teas and split a croissant and sit on the steps of the round pond in the centre. Remus leans over and kisses him. They are outside, surrounded by people, and Remus is kissing him, and Sirius thinks he could die happy right here. The pale winter sunlight glints off of the grey in Remus’s hair and Sirius shivers with a little frisson, because everyone watching them must be jealous of him for having this gorgeous man.

 

‘Having a good day?’ Remus asks sweetly, and then he puts his arm around Sirius’s shoulders and draws him close.

 

‘Always with you,’ Sirius murmurs against his ear, and then he steals the rest of Remus’s croissant half and eats it to stop from being too soppy.

 

***

 

Molly greets them at the door. ‘Sirius,’ she says, smiling. ‘Security question, of course. What did we find in the upstairs library at Grimmauld Place?’

 

‘A drunken doxy,’ Sirius says. ‘And an empty bottle of brandy.’

 

Remus bursts into laughter. ‘No one told me that!’

 

‘It stank,’ Molly says.

 

‘Ugh,’ Sirius agrees, making a face.

 

‘Come in,’ Molly says. ‘Remus, it’s _lovely_ to see you. I thought you wouldn’t be back so soon!’

 

‘I’m very happy to be back,’ Remus says emphatically, giving her a hug.

 

‘I wanted Remus to see our project,’ Sirius explains.

 

‘Perfect,’ Molly says. ‘Because Arthur is here and I wanted to show him!’

 

Sirius and Molly leave Remus to chat with Arthur at the kitchen table and go into the lounge, where Molly is storing their work.

 

‘I didn’t realise this was going to be a formal presentation,’ Molly says, making a faux-scared face at Sirius.

 

‘Me either,’ Sirius says, copying her face. ‘But I think,’ he unrolls their prototype and looks at it, ‘yeah, I think we’ve got something really good here.’

 

‘It’ll be good to talk to them about it,’ Molly says. ‘And hear someone else’s opinion.’ She smiles at him. ‘You look really well, Sirius.’

 

‘Thanks,’ Sirius says. ‘Remus is home, and I finally got a wand that suits me this morning.’ He takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous. They’ve been working hard on this. ‘Ready?’

 

She nods. ‘Ready.’

 

Back in the kitchen, Remus is laughing helplessly at some anecdote Arthur is telling. ‘He really thought that?’

 

‘Honestly,’ Arthur says, ‘I am shocked – utterly shocked – at the level of ignorance so many wizards have about Muggles.’

 

Remus shakes his head, suddenly sober. ‘It’s probably a great deal of the problems we have today.’ He looks up at Sirius. ‘You two have something to tell us about?’

 

‘Ok,’ Sirius says, ‘so,’ he glances at Molly, ‘uhm…’

 

‘Sirius noticed my clock,’ Molly says, pointing towards its current position on the kitchen counter. ‘And he had some very interesting thoughts about it relating to what he knows about maps.’

 

‘Right,’ Sirius says, nodding. ‘Ever since I was the point man for everyone coming into Order headquarters and I had to keep track of where everyone was, I’ve been trying to think of a better way to do it. And Molly’s clock is able to track people’s locations in a very interesting way that got me thinking. I talked to her about it and we’ve come up with some prototypes…’ He unfurls the smaller one and lays it out on the table. ‘First, we created this map of the Burrow, just as a test.’ The map shows the house in cross section, sketched out complete with furniture. Four circles, bearing their names, are at the kitchen table.

 

Remus leans forward, peering at it. ‘You’ve got a ghoul on there!’ he says, sounding astonished. He looks up at Sirius, eyes wide. ‘You solved James’s problem!’

 

‘I know,’ Sirius says, grinning at him. ‘It’s the clock’s magic. That’s the solution. We were going about it all the wrong way.’

 

‘Wait, what was James’s problem?’ Arthur asks.

 

‘You’d better explain about your old map to Arthur,’ Molly says.

 

‘Sorry,’ Remus says, ‘I just…’ he pulls the map to him. ‘Oh you’ve solved a lot of our problems here, haven’t you?’

 

Sirius nods and grins at him. ‘So, Arthur,’ he says, turning to him, ‘briefly, when we were at school, we…’ He looks at Remus. ‘I don’t even know where to begin.’

 

‘We made a map,’ Remus says to Arthur, ‘of the entirety of Hogwarts.’ He looks up at Sirius. ‘Fred and George had it, you know. For a while.’

 

‘I remember. We talked to them,’ Sirius says. ‘They hadn’t figured it out, though. Just found it useful.’

 

Molly rolls her eyes. ‘Yes, we talked to them,’ she says, rather darkly.

 

‘So Arthur,’ Remus says, ‘we had an issue with having to travel around Hogwarts undetected at odd hours.’

 

Arthur raises his eyebrows. ‘Because your friends – Sirius, James, and Peter, right?’ Remus and Sirius nod. ‘They were sneaking out to spend time with you as a werewolf.’ The entire story had come out to several key people over the past year and a half when explaining Sirius’s innocence.

 

Remus nods. ‘Exactly. And James had an invisibility cloak that worked all right, but if people needed to be in different places, it obviously was a problem. Not to mention that there are some people and things at Hogwarts that can see through invisibility cloaks.’

 

‘Dumbledore,’ Sirius mutters under his breath, remembering a very close call.

 

‘So, we came up with a plan to make a map that would track the location of everyone in Hogwarts in real time.'

 

Arthur looks at Molly and whistles. ‘That’s quite a plan.’

 

‘We were nothing if not ambitious,’ Remus says, making a guilty face.

 

‘To be fair,’ Sirius says, ‘at first it was just tracking teachers.’

 

‘Right,’ Remus says. ‘But once we got a rudimentary form working, we just…’ He looks up at Sirius and shrugs. ‘We were rather perfectionist. We realised we could make a truly excellent resource for mischief making and we got carried away with it.’

 

‘And your map covered all of Hogwarts and everyone in it?’

 

‘Well, almost,’ Remus says. ‘The way we did it, we had a bit of a problem.’

 

‘The James Problem,’ Sirius says.

 

‘Which you’ve somehow solved,’ Remus says. His eyes are gleaming with excitement in a way that Sirius is very familiar with from school.

 

‘So the way we did it back then,’ Sirius says, ‘we largely used boundaries. The very first rooms we did – Gryffindor Tower, and the hallways that led from it down to the front door – we literally walked the bounds of each space. It was incredibly time consuming. It took us, I don’t know, six months? Just to get that very limited area of the castle. Then we realised that we didn’t physically have to walk the boundaries – we could create a scale model version on paper and draw the boundaries that way. We still had to have knowledge of all the boundaries but we didn’t physically have to walk them, so long as we understood their dimensions.’

 

Remus is grinning in memory. ‘And for this reason, the Ravenclaw girls’ dormitory was never properly mapped.’

 

‘Girls’ dormitories were a real problem,’ Sirius says. ‘We knew five hidden ways out of the castle before we ever mapped a girls’ dormitory.’

 

‘Since you had to get into them,’ Arthur says. ‘Thus needing a girl to invite you up.’

 

‘Boys can’t go into Gryffindor’s at all,’ Remus says. ‘Or at least we couldn’t. We actually had to enlist someone to map that one for us, although we didn’t explain what we were doing or why.’

 

‘And Ravenclaw…?’

 

Remus grins. ‘ _Someone_ ,’ he says, looking at Sirius, ‘was supposed to get that information, but it didn’t quite work.’

 

‘She was too smart for me,’ Sirius says. ‘Marlene McKinnon. She said it was obvious I wasn’t interested in her and kicked me out before I got much information.’ He makes a rueful face at the others. ‘And then I was just stuck in the Ravenclaw common room without my trousers.’

 

‘I’m so glad I was out of school before you four arrived,’ Molly says, shaking her head. ‘You sound like absolute terrors.’

 

‘We were awful,’ Remus says.

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius agrees. ‘I would not have wished us upon anyone.’

 

‘It’s shocking Albus trusts us at all,’ Remus says.

 

‘Not to mention Minerva.’

 

‘But anyway,’ Remus says, ‘that’s how we mapped the castle. It was tedious and I can do cartography spells in my sleep as a result, but the map was incredible. And saved us from expulsion, god, I don’t know, a hundred times.’

 

‘At least,’ Sirius agrees.

 

‘How did you add people to it?’ Arthur asks. ‘I know nothing about cartography magic.’

 

‘We did it with the boundaries,’ Sirius says. ‘Very basically, when you have a closed polygon, it’s quite easy to determine what is inside of it.’

 

‘And the smaller the polygon, the easier it is,’ Remus adds. ‘You need a lot of magical energy to understand what is within the boundaries of, say, the castle. But if you divide it into smaller shapes, it gets much easier.’

 

‘Again, if you know the boundaries,’ Sirius says.

 

‘This is how some of the protection around our house works,’ Remus explains. ‘It lets us know if something comes through the boundary.’

 

‘So,’ Arthur says, frowning, ‘I guess the problem lies in the places where boundaries break. Doorways, windows, that kind of thing.’

 

‘Well, sort of,’ Sirius says. ‘You can build known boundaries into it – like doorways and windows. And when the polygons share edges there’s only a second where someone is between boundaries. And on the map we built in school, they would flicker across the boundary and then almost immediately back. Remus fixed the flicker very late on – when we were just being showy with our magic – by making each boundary doorway have a “prediction” of where the person was going – just into the next room.’

 

‘In the Department of Mysteries,’ Remus says, ‘if you recall the room with the rotating doors…’

 

‘That’s designed to defeat that?’

 

‘Yes, it’s designed to confuse cartographic magic. Same as the staircases at Hogwarts.’

 

‘How did you deal with those?’

 

‘We cheated. They’re not actually random,’ Remus says. ‘Well, the ones in the Department of Mysteries are, but the Hogwarts ones follow a set pattern, if you watch them long enough.’

 

‘And you did.’

 

‘Peter convinced the Fat Lady to do it for us.’

 

Arthur bursts into laughter. ‘That’s bloody impressive.’

 

‘But,’ Sirius says, ‘you were right that there’s a problem with boundary edges. Also with things that are not strictly, well, living. And that is the James Problem.’

 

‘James got caught by the Bloody Baron, who turned him in to Filch,’ Remus explains. ‘He came back to our room incredibly mad and demanded that we figure out a way to map ghosts. The fact that they move through walls rather than doors or windows was defeating our methods.’

 

‘Not to mention being dead,’ Arthur says.

 

‘Right, but that’s actually easier to deal with,’ Remus says, ‘because they have a consciousness. There’s a murderous plant in the greenhouses that was harder to map than ghosts for that reason.’

 

‘So the problem is disregarding boundaries.’

 

‘Right. Which we _sort of_ solved by just finding each individual ghost and setting a tracking spell on them. But that’s obviously unrealistic if you don’t know where every ghost is. And the way they move confuses the map boundaries.’ He shrugs. ‘The solution we came up with was not elegant and as a result was unstable and sometimes unreliable.’

 

‘Another problem we never dealt with, that Molly and I had to,’ Sirius says, ‘is Apparition. People suddenly appearing in places without having travelled there linearly.’

 

‘Since you can’t Apparate into Hogwarts,’ Molly adds.

 

‘Oh yes,’ Remus says. ‘I always forget about that. Because all of the mapping of individuals we did was in this unrealistic system without Apparition. It was like mapping Muggles.’

 

‘But,’ Sirius says, reaching for Molly’s clock, ‘the clock’s magic knows how to deal with that. If someone is travelling, it knows.’ He points to the travelling arrow. ‘Even if that travelling is non-linear, through Apparition or Floo Powder.’

 

Remus squints. ‘Those work very differently though. With Floo Powder, you use non-linear waypoints in the Floo Network – that’s why you see all those fireplaces…’

 

‘We know, Professor,’ Sirius says, grinning. ‘And Apparition uses entirely different pathways.’

 

Remus sticks out his tongue. ‘So how could the clock map them the same?’

 

‘Because the clock isn’t mapping pathways,’ Sirius says. ‘The Marauder’s Map treated every individual on it as a pathway – not a person. Just a moving point.’

 

‘Right…’

 

‘Well, this is Molly’s insight,’ Sirius says, nodding to her. ‘You understand the clock better than I do.’

 

‘The clock recognises people,’ Molly says. ‘Like Sirius said, the Marauder’s Map worked because it mapped people as moving points. But the clock sees people as people – it recognises individuals that are valuable to it, no matter where they are magically. It has boundaries, just like your map of Hogwarts – but when things it recognises are outside of those boundaries, it knows they are “travelling”.’ She points to a corner of the map, where there are three labelled columns in Sirius’s hand: “Apparition”, “Floo”, and “Portkey”. ‘And it can tell how people are moving.’

 

‘Portkey too,’ Remus murmurs. ‘Of course. Related to Apparition but…’

 

‘So if someone in the Burrow Apparates between rooms…’ Arthur says.

 

‘Sure,’ Sirius says. ‘Watch.’ With a crack, he Apparates up to the attic; a second later he Apparates back into the kitchen. His name is still glowing, brown rather than black, in the Apparition column and in the attic; it is black here at the kitchen table.

 

‘Amazing,’ Arthur says, a little faintly.

 

‘Watch the clock,’ Molly says to him, and she Apparates too. They all watch as its arm swings to travelling, and then a second later swings to “Home”. She walks in from the lounge and they look at the map – it has recorded all of this too.

 

‘We had to teach the map,’ Molly says. ‘The clock doesn’t need to learn – it’s my clock and it is attuned to me. We couldn’t figure out how to change that. But we did figure out how to teach the map to recognise people.’

 

‘How?’ Remus asks.

 

‘Handwriting,’ Sirius says. ‘We used letters.’

 

‘“In written word recreate my soul”,’ Remus says, quoting a spellbook. ‘Excellent. The Marauder’s Map has a primitive version of that – from us writing it.’

 

‘That was a side effect, though. We didn’t know it would do that.’

 

‘Sirius, it insults people now,’ Remus says.

 

‘Does it really?’

 

‘Well, I don’t know about _people,_ but I’ve seen it insult Severus.’

 

Sirius can’t help but feel happy about that. ‘Our baby,’ he says fondly. ‘It knows us so well.’

 

‘So you created a map of the Burrow that shows when people are travelling and who is here,’ Arthur says.

 

‘And the ghoul,’ Sirius says, ‘who appeared because Molly got him to scribble with a pen.’

 

‘Fascinating,’ Remus says, eyes wide.

 

‘But,’ Molly says quickly, ‘it’s not that impressive if it’s just the Burrow.’

 

‘Is it not?’ Arthur asks. ‘It seems very impressive.’

 

Molly unfurls the second map, which covers the entire table: Britain. Sirius can’t help but be proud of their work. There are circles moving all over it – Order members. And in the corners – boxes for different modes of travelling. Kingsley has just Apparated somewhere. He watches Remus trace the map with his finger, his mouth hanging open slightly, until he gets to Hogwarts. ‘Albus isn’t there,’ he says.

 

‘Albus disappears sometimes,’ Sirius says. ‘He’s the only one who does, and we have no idea where he goes. Like we talked about, probably – hidden places in the landscape.’

 

Remus looks very worried, but nods.

 

‘The boundaries were too big,’ Molly says, ‘for all of Britain. Like you said, the magical energy was too much if the map was tracking all the moving things inside the boundaries. So instead, we taught the map to track only very limited individuals.’

 

‘And there’s one other thing,’ Sirius says. ‘Again, from Molly’s clock.’

 

Molly nods. ‘We’ve had to adjust it a bit,’ she says. ‘The clock is more sensitive.’

 

‘Oh my god,’ Arthur says. ‘“Mortal peril”.’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘So it will warn us…’

 

Sirius and Molly both nod. ‘When someone needs help,’ Molly says.

 

‘What do you think?’ Sirius asks, suddenly nervous again.

 

‘This is amazing,’ Arthur says, but Sirius is watching Remus – the one who knows about maps.

 

‘This is ambitious,’ Remus says quietly, running his fingers down the parchment. ‘Very ambitious.’

 

‘But it works,’ Molly says. She glances at Sirius. ‘At least, our tests of it seem to work…’

 

‘Oh, I believe you,’ Remus says. He looks up at the two of them and smiles hugely. ‘I’m just very impressed. You need to show Albus.’

 

***

The next morning, Remus leaves the house and walks down the path to the stand of trees where their shield charm ends. It is raining lightly and the rocks on the path are slick; he keeps reminding himself to pay attention to them because he is lost in thought. A very important idea is percolating in his head, and he wants to talk to Harry about it.

 

Ever since Sirius almost died at the Department of Mysteries and, specifically, since the Healers at St Mungo’s wouldn’t let Remus see him, Remus has been thinking about the possibility of them getting married. Their lives are increasingly dangerous and he finds that he is genuinely terrified at the thought of Sirius being in hospital again and them being separated.

 

Marriage was illegal for them the first time they were together, and though he’d discussed it with both Peter and James – obliquely, in the context of other people getting married, although the conversation had obviously been about himself – he and Sirius have only ever talked about it once, and it was painful.  

 

After everything that happened that Halloween night, Remus had cleared out everything in their flat – mostly by throwing everything out the back window into a conveniently placed skip – and, after three funerals and a meeting with the elder Blacks, he had fled the country. The only thing of Sirius’s that he hadn’t tossed is a small box that he hadn’t even known was Sirius’s when he’d found it under the bed – he’d thought it was something left by a previous tenant because he hadn’t recognized it. He’d pulled it out and opened it, no idea what he’d find. Inside had been what looked like a pile of notes and photos. The top one was from Lily to Sirius and featured a photograph of Harry racing on a tiny broomstick that Sirius had given him for his birthday. Remus had slammed the box shut, stashed it at his parents’ house with a few things of his own he didn’t need but couldn’t bear to part with, and had not thought about it again until Sirius returns, the night after their reunion in the Shrieking Shack.

 

Late on the second day that Sirius is at the cottage with him, Remus remembers the box. Sirius is emotionally fragile – understatement of the decade – but Remus suspects that he would like to see those letters and photographs again. He takes it out from under his own bed and they sit side by side on the floor with it between them.

 

‘Wow,’ Sirius says softly, looking at the top photo. ‘He’s all grown up, isn’t he?’

 

They flip through the letters – Sirius lingers over one from James, one finger resting on the signed ‘Prongs’ at the bottom – and Remus finds a little velvet bag near the bottom. While Sirius stares at the letter, Remus looks in the bag, trying to give him some space. There are two rings inside – one incredibly ornate, with a large, smooth black stone, the other plain by contrast but beautiful. Remus tips them into his hand and examines them.

 

‘Don’t put that one on,’ Sirius says, voice suddenly sharp.

 

Remus looks up, startled. He hadn’t even known Sirius was paying attention to him. ‘Which one?’

 

Sirius reaches across the box and plucks the ornate ring out of Remus’s hand. His touch makes Remus’s skin burn. ‘This is for the heir to the House of Black,’ Sirius says. ‘It was Regulus’s. I rather suspect that if someone who is not the heir to the House of Black tries to wear it, there might be unpleasant consequences.’

 

‘Thanks,’ Remus says. Sirius is now staring at the ring, and Remus starts to regret bringing out the box. He looks down at the other ring in his hand. It is captivating. Something about the pale gold seems deeper in colour, iridescent. Without thinking about it, he slides it onto the ring finger of his right hand. It fits perfectly, and emits a warm glow. He runs the fingers of his other hand over it. ‘Does this one have a protection charm?’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius says. There’s a note in his voice that Remus doesn’t quite understand. ‘I’m surprised it still works. I cast it a long time ago.’

 

‘Is this yours?’ Remus asks, still looking at the ring. ‘I don’t remember you having it.’

 

‘I bought it,’ Sirius says. There’s a pause, and then he says, ‘I bought it for you, actually.’

 

Remus looks up, startled. ‘What?’

 

Sirius is looking at Remus’s hand. ‘It’s…’ He pauses, smiles like it hurts. ‘James made me go with him when he went ring shopping for Lily. He said he needed the emotional support. He kept trying to convince me that I should get a ring for you, that it didn’t matter that I was gay, that we could just do something privately. Told me he’d even officiate. And I kept saying no, and then I found this one and, well,’ Sirius looks up, directly into Remus’s eyes. ‘He convinced me.’

 

Remus has been avoiding this exact emotion for two days now: the emotion that wells up whenever he looks at Sirius, whenever they accidentally-on-purpose touch, whenever Sirius leaves the room and he’s left without him. He’s told himself over and over again that he is here for whatever Sirius needs, and that whatever he, Remus, needs, doesn’t matter. Sirius is the injured party. Remus is the strong one.

 

He remembers Lily, having just witnessed him capitulate completely to settle some domestic squabble between the four of them when they had lived together the autumn after leaving Hogwarts: ‘So your role in this perpetual morality play is that of the martyr, hm?’ she’d asked sweetly.

 

He shoves himself up from the floor and says, ‘I’m just stepping outside.’ His voice sounds thin and he doesn’t look at Sirius as he leaves the room, walks rapidly down the hallway, and out the front door. He shuts it very quietly and carefully, keeping the handle twisted until he can feel that it is fully within its frame, and then the emotion really hits him and he slumps down the outer wall of the house and puts his head in his hands.

 

Remus has some ideas about what might have gone wrong in the relationship he's been unhealthily relitigating for thirteen years. There’s a running video in his head of every single thing he did wrong and he knows what he would do differently, this time, if he could…

 

But that’s an utterly idiotic idea. Their relationship towards the end had been a disaster. They hadn’t trusted each other at all and they’d fought horribly. Sirius had once accused Remus of cheating on him and then told him it was easier to accuse him of that than to accuse him of being the spy. Remus had gone through all of Sirius’s things when Sirius was out, searching frantically and repeatedly for anything that might have confirmed what he felt to be certain, which was that Sirius was lying to him.

 

But Sirius had bought him a ring, James had wanted Sirius to buy him a ring, Sirius had put protection charms just for him on the ring…

 

The door opens. Remus keeps his head in his hands and tries to stop making hideous sobbing noises. He feels Sirius sit beside him and then Sirius’s hands, warm and large and strong, are on his shoulders, tugging him close. Remus winds up settled halfway into his lap, trying to stop crying while Sirius says over and over again, ‘I’m so sorry, Remus, this is all my fault, I’m so sorry.’

 

‘Why didn’t you ever give it to me?’ Remus asks finally, when he can breathe and speak at the same time again.

 

‘The ring?’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

Sirius takes Remus’s hand and looks at it. The simple gold band glints in the pale sunlight. Remus can still feel the warmth radiating from it. ‘It just…’ Sirius sighs. ‘I wanted to. Truly. But the moment never, well, it never felt right. There was always something.’

 

‘I know,’ Remus says. Later, inside the kitchen, he accidentally-on-purpose kisses Sirius and they start over again, this thing that he needs a frightening amount. He takes the ring off that night, putting it back into the smooth velvet bag. He tries to apply what he’s learned and he can tell Sirius is trying too. It is hard and grown up and the most important thing he can imagine.

 

Now, stepping into the turn to Apparate to Hogsmeade, he comes to a decision. He is tired of waiting for the moment to be right. The moment has _always_ been right. He’s going to talk to Harry about it, and then he’s going to ask Sirius to marry him.

 

***

Harry meets him in the Great Hall. Remus can’t help smiling when he sees him, and Harry smiles back. ‘Remus!’ he says. ‘Professor McGonagall gave me permission to walk around the grounds with you!’

 

‘How long until your next class?’ Remus asks.

 

‘An hour.’

 

‘Perfect. Where shall we go?’

 

It is cold outside, but not unpleasantly so, with just a light drizzle that settles in their hair and on their faces as they walk.

 

‘I have to get this out of the way,’ Remus says. ‘Obligatory question. How is school?’

 

‘It’s great,’ Harry says. ‘Well, aside from Defence.’

 

‘Severus?’

 

Harry makes a face. ‘He’s awful, Remus. He really is. And I’m convinced he’s not on our side.’

 

Remus wants to laugh – Harry sounds so much like Sirius – but doesn’t want Harry to think he’s laughing at him. ‘Because of Draco Malfoy?’ he asks. He wouldn’t be shocked if Malfoy is up to something, though probably something rather trivial – he remembers him as a student who seemed to constantly need to prove himself.

 

Harry nods fervently and talks for several minutes about his suspicions.

 

‘Wait,’ Remus says, alarmed, ‘he Stunned you on the train?’

 

‘Yeah!’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘Well, water under the bridge now, but I wish he’d gotten in more trouble for that. That could have been quite dangerous for you.’ He realises belatedly that he and his friends had done far worse things to other students, but there’s something different about it when it’s his godson.

 

‘Oh,’ Harry says, ‘and I’m taking special lessons with Professor Dumbledore.’

 

‘Oh?’ Remus asks, interested. ‘What about?’

 

Harry starts to say something, then stops. ‘I’m actually… I think I’m not supposed to talk about it with anyone else. Except Ron and Hermione.’

 

‘Ok,’ Remus says quickly, wondering why exactly Albus has decided that.

 

‘But it’s been really interesting,’ Harry says. ‘I’m learning a lot.’

 

‘Good,’ Remus says, filing that away as something he wants to hear about from Albus.

 

‘What about you and Sirius?’ Harry asks. ‘Are you – how is the – can I ask you about it, sorry, I wanted to ask sooner, but I had a lot to tell you.’

 

Remus grins. ‘I can’t tell you too much, unfortunately. The war continues. I tried to recruit some,’ he swallows, wishes he didn’t, ‘werewolves, but it didn’t work out well.’

 

‘Why not?’ Harry asks.

 

‘They’re being led by someone named Fenrir Greyback – the werewolf who bit me, actually.’ Remus is surprised that that information doesn’t hurt more to say.

 

Harry looks shocked. ‘You know who it was?’

 

Remus nods. ‘And he’s a Death Eater.’

 

‘And he’s leading the other werewolves?’

 

‘Some of them. The most organised ones.’

 

‘That’s not great.’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘No, it’s not. I tried to lure a few people away, but, well, we’ll see.’

 

‘What about Sirius?’

 

‘He’s been working on quite a cool project with Molly,’ Remus says. ‘You’ll have to see it at Christmas. It’s a bit like the Marauder’s Map, but it uses the magic in that clock of hers…’

 

‘The one that says things like “mortal peril”?’

 

‘Exactly. It uses that magic to locate Order members.’

 

‘But isn’t everyone just “in mortal peril”?’

 

‘You’d think. But they’ve modified it a bit. It makes a warning system that seems like it will be quite effective.’

 

‘Wait, did you say at Christmas? Do I get to go to the Burrow?’

 

‘I was going to make sure when I speak with Albus today, but, yes, I think so.’ Harry hesitates. Remus looks at him, quizzical. ‘What’s wrong?’

 

‘I thought I might get to go home to – well, to go with you and Sirius.’ Harry looks instantly embarrassed, but Remus is hugely touched.

 

‘I wish you could,’ he says. ‘Truly. But the Burrow is an easier place to protect in the way that we need to protect it for you to be there. And,’ Remus adds, ‘Molly and Sirius are getting along so well now that I imagine we’ll be there most of the time anyway.’

 

Harry nods. ‘It just was nice to have my own room,’ he says, then adds quickly, ‘but I mean, I want to spend it with the Weasleys too.’

 

‘Who knows, maybe the war will be over by then,’ Remus says. ‘Maybe we’ll all go spend it on the beach somewhere.’

 

Harry stops and looks at him, ‘Are you…?’

 

Remus laughs. ‘No. In no way do I mean that. Just wishful thinking.’

 

‘That would be amazing, though.’

 

Remus sees his opening. ‘Listen, Harry, speaking of wishful thinking…’

 

‘Yeah?’

 

‘I think I’m going to ask Sirius to marry me.’

 

Harry breaks into a huge grin. ‘Really?’

 

Remus nods. ‘Really. I don’t want a repeat of what happened over the summer, where I couldn’t see him in the hospital.’

 

‘Completely understandable,’ Harry says.

 

‘But I wanted to talk to you about it first. Is that all right with you?’

 

‘Yes,’ Harry says immediately. ‘Of course. And maybe…’ He looks embarrassed.

 

Remus suddenly understands. ‘We’d love to adopt you,’ he says gently, ‘but it would be a mistake from a magical perspective. We need your aunt’s protection.’

 

Harry looks crestfallen. ‘I know,’ he says.

 

‘When the war is over,’ Remus says firmly. ‘I promise you, if you still want us to, we will.’

 

‘I’ll probably be too old by then,’ Harry mutters.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Remus says, because there’s nothing else he can say.

 

‘The night I met Sirius,’ Harry says quietly, ‘he said I could live with him. And I’ve wanted that ever since, more than anything. When I thought I was going to get expelled last year, I hoped at least I’d get to come back and live with him.’

 

Remus’s heart breaks. ‘I wish things were different,’ he says. He does not add that more than anything, he wishes James and Lily were still here.

 

‘Me too,’ Harry says.

 

***

The door to Albus’s office is just as intimidating as it ever was, but for a different reason now. Remus feels that sense of vertigo he gets whenever he remembers that he is somehow supposed to follow Albus should the worst happen. There’s just no way he can ever come close…

 

‘Remus,’ Albus says when he enters, and he sounds genuinely pleased to see him. Remus is touched. ‘Thank you for coming. Sit, have a drink with me.’

 

‘Thank you,’ Remus says, sitting opposite him. ‘A drink would be lovely.’

 

Albus pours him a glass of red wine from a bottle on his desk and Remus accepts it, inhaling the smell and holding it for a moment. He wants to laugh, looking across the desk at Albus and remembering how many times he has sat here in rather different circumstances.

 

‘Remembering old exploits?’ Albus asks.

 

‘Remembering sitting here.’ Remus grins. ‘You don’t look stern or disappointed today, though.’

 

Albus laughs. ‘I am glad that I often was. You seem to have taken my lessons to heart.’

 

‘Oh, I did,’ Remus says. ‘And I’m infinitely grateful to you for them. And rather sorry that we were always so difficult.’

 

Albus waves a hand. ‘I wouldn’t have had it any other way,’ he says. ‘Well, aside from the incident with the giant pumpkin. I would rather have not had to deal with that.’

 

Remus winces. ‘Oh god, I’d forgotten about that.’

 

‘Imelda Grey did eventually get the seeds removed.’

 

Remus ducks his head and searches for a change of subject. ‘I’ve just seen Harry,’ he says. ‘He told me that you’re giving him some kind of lessons.’

 

‘Oh, yes,’ Albus says. ‘I’ve been trying to learn as much about Voldemort as I can for years now, his family, his past…’ He takes a sip of wine. ‘I’ve been sharing those memories with Harry. I find that it’s useful to have a young man’s perspective. Especially Harry’s.’

 

‘He’s,’ Remus stops, not sure what to say. ‘He’s very...’

 

‘Good?’ Albus suggests.

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says. ‘Despite everything, he’s just a very good person.’

 

‘I know,’ Albus says. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ He takes another sip of wine and sighs. ‘And you know, Remus, if I could have done anything to allow him to be raised by you and Sirius… it is truly a great regret of mine that he had to go to his aunt and uncle, rather than the two of you.’

 

Remus’s heart aches thinking of the possibility; he feels tears prickle the back of his throat and says quickly, ‘It is a great regret of mine that he was not raised by James and Lily.’

 

Albus nods and raises his glass. ‘To James and Lily,’ he says quietly, and Remus raises his own and echoes him. ‘Now,’ Albus says, ‘tell me about your mission.’

 

Remus gives a detailed outline of the events of the past two months. At the end, Albus asks, ‘And what do you think the chance of many of them coming to our side is?’

 

‘It’s hard,’ Remus admits. ‘Even the ones who might be reasonable, the ones who I would naturally gravitate towards as allies… they see Scrimgeour is the Minister now. They know what he was like as an Auror, rounding up as many of them as he could – most of them are on the Registry because of his efforts – and they especially know what he was like as Head of the Auror Office, because that’s when Umbridge’s laws,’ Remus makes a disgusted noise, because they had been threatened for years but Umbridge had correctly read the political moment of fear of Voldemort after the Triwizard Tournament to push them through. ‘Well, you know. Scrimgeour was the one who started enforcing them. And that seriously impacted a lot of people there.’ Remus shakes his head. ‘People had employment, they were getting by. Her laws drove them underground.’

 

‘So they’ll never trust him as Minister,’ Albus says.

 

‘No,’ Remus says. He shakes his head. ‘Most of them won’t. And there’s a very destructive mood among people, especially the ones who were most affected by her laws.’

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

‘They want to destroy the system,’ Remus says. ‘I would say that most of them know Voldemort is bad, they know he’s terrible. Appealing to them in that sense does nothing, because they know it. But they’re determined to believe that if he gets into power, the system will somehow correct itself and everything will be perfect. How that happens, they don’t know. Some vague talk about revolution. They see the current world as imperfect, so rather than actively trying to fix it from within, they’ve decided to blow it up.’

 

Albus sighs. ‘That’s terribly frustrating.’

 

‘And most of them won’t listen to me,’ Remus adds. ‘Greyback has them convinced I’m a kept werewolf, some tame creature of yours.’ He shakes his head violently. ‘Of course the truth is that he’s just that to Voldemort.’

 

Albus is studying him. ‘And what do _you_ think?’

 

‘I think they’re idiots,’ Remus snaps. ‘The idea that something perfect is going to rise from the ashes of Voldemort’s regime is absolutely absurd, and, and,’ he shrugs, ‘and frankly ahistorical and ignorant. It also ignores that in-between step where things under Voldemort are so bad that people start a revolution. People are already dying, human wizards and witches are terrified and looking for anyone to blame to make the fear stop – who do these werewolves think is going to get blamed? Not upstanding wizards and witches, that’s for damn sure.’

 

Albus stands and walks over to look out one of the windows. Remus decides he isn’t done. ‘It’s impossibly stupid. The first war was not all that long ago, they must remember how it went. Installing a fascist regime was never, ever the right answer.’

 

‘I know,’ Albus says. ‘It’s not just the werewolves. It’s incredibly hard to convince people that this is happening again; harder almost than when it happened the last time… People seem to want to be wilfully ignorant about it.’

 

‘To protect themselves,’ Remus snaps. ‘Fuck, I sound bitter. Sorry.’

 

Albus turns back to look at him and leans against the window sill. ‘It’s quite all right, Remus. It’s a very frustrating situation.’

 

‘At least we know we’re doing the right thing,’ Remus says quietly. ‘When he was still in the shadows, it was hard to know if we were overreacting.’

 

‘Yes,’ Albus agrees, ‘though sadly I’ve found that I’ve never been too concerned about one of these situations.’ They both sit in silence for a moment. Then Albus says, ‘That’s what Grindelwald always said, too.’

 

‘What’s that?’ Remus asks, startled out of his own thoughts by the mention of Grindelwald’s name.

 

‘He wanted to destroy the established system.’ Albus sighs and smiles ruefully. ‘In my head, I always added that it was to make a better world. Sadly, that isn’t what he was saying at all.’

 

This is certainly new information. Remus frowns at him. ‘Did you know him well?’

 

‘Oh,’ Albus says, ‘did you not know that? It’s not hidden knowledge. I was certain the gossip mill would have put that out into the public consciousness long ago.’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘I had no idea.’

 

Albus looks down and to the side. ‘There was a time – early on – when he and I were very close.’

 

It takes Remus a second to realise how candid this conversation truly is. Then he says, ‘I completely understand, then. It’s not a rational…’ He grins, thinking of himself. ‘It’s not a rational feeling.’

 

‘Even you, Remus?’ Albus asks. ‘You’re one of the most rational people I know.’

 

‘There’s Minerva,’ Remus protests, joking, trying to keep the moment light, but desperately curious to know more.

 

‘Ah, yes,’ Albus says, ‘of course, Minerva is first. Then you.’

 

‘And yes, absolutely, even me.’ Remus says. ‘A lot of things would be different if I’d been, well, rational.’

 

‘Indeed,’ Albus says. He looks down into his wine glass, and says, seemingly both to himself and to Remus, ‘But love, of course, is what makes us who we are.’

 

***

Hestia has organised fortnightly meetings for Order members in her local church hall. Each time, someone goes over a spell they feel has been particularly helpful to them, and then everyone practices it for an hour or so, and then some of the members often wind up at the pub together. These practices have grown out of their Apparition sessions to cover more.

 

In early December, when Sirius arrives at the meeting a few minutes late and Remus gives him a quick peck on the lips, Sirius sees Tonks look away, and decides that things have been awkward between them long enough. Tonks hasn’t spoken to him aside from what’s necessary since she found out about his relationship with Remus. He catches her on her way out the door.

 

‘Your hair isn’t pink,’ he says in greeting.

 

She opens her mouth once, then says, ‘It’s kind of a mood, honestly.’

 

‘Maybe your mood would improve if you went to the pub with us.’

 

Tonks raises her eyebrows. ‘I think you don’t understand my mood.’

 

‘Come on, now, Tonks, you’re my cousin.’

 

‘So’s Bellatrix,’ she says, but she grins.

 

‘The good ones have to stick together,’ Sirius says firmly. ‘Come to the pub.’

 

Tonks hesitates. ‘Sirius…’

 

‘I’d love to talk to you,’ Sirius says. ‘Just you and me, having a chat.’

 

‘With drinks?’

 

‘Obviously.’ He gives her his best big, exaggerated smile. ‘I’ll even buy.’

 

She sighs. ‘All right.’

 

The pub – a magical one very close to the church hall – is quiet on the Tuesday night. A Quidditch match between lower league teams from obscure parts of the North is playing above the bar, with three supporters watching who seem depressed by the results. The influx of Order members – about twelve of them make the journey over – temporarily puts the bartender into a panic.

 

‘I’m just going to have a chat with Tonks,’ Sirius says quietly to Remus.

 

‘Oh,’ Remus says. He nods. ‘Good idea. I’ll speak with the others.’

 

Sirius buys pints for the two of them and finds her seated in the booth nearest the toilets. She is staring out the window, apparently looking through the condensation running down it at the rainy street beyond.

 

‘Tonks, can we be friends?’ he asks her, sliding her drink across the table.

 

‘Sure,’ she says. She takes a drink. ‘How are you?’

 

‘Well,’ Sirius says, ‘I’ve got a lot of things on my mind right now. You?’

 

She huffs a single, sardonic laugh. ‘Same, really.’

 

‘How’s your mother?’ Sirius asks solicitously. ‘I always liked what I heard about her.’

 

‘That she got disowned from your family, you mean?’

 

‘Right.’

 

Tonks squints her eyes at him. ‘You’re very charming, you know.’

 

‘So I’ve been told. I mean, not lately, but in the past, I had that reputation.’

 

Tonks hums. ‘You can turn it on.’

 

‘When I’m with people I like,’ Sirius says.

 

Tonks rolls her eyes. ‘Mum’s fine,’ she says. ‘Worried. Dad too.’

 

‘Common problem going around,’ Sirius says. They both take a drink. The silence is unbearable. Sirius decides to apologise. ‘Listen, Tonks, I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other better last year. I was going through a difficult time.’

 

Tonks finally looks at him. ‘It seemed awful,’ she says candidly. ‘Stuck in that house you grew up in, not able to really go out. I mean, you did loads of good for the Order – the house was so crucial to all of us getting to know one another and being able to coordinate – we’ve all said we feel the loss of it now – but Jesus.’ She makes a face. ‘I just, I can’t imagine what it was like for you.’

 

Sirius is taken aback by the sudden sympathy. ‘Thanks,’ he manages to say. ‘Really, thank you.’

 

‘And _I’m_ sorry,’ she says, and then stops and looks down at her hands. ‘Fuck.’

 

‘For what?’ Sirius asks gently. ‘You really have nothing to be sorry for.’

 

‘Well, for being an idiot,’ she says. ‘For thinking that…’ She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

 

‘Remus is a hard man to read.’ Tonks looks at him again. ‘You didn’t know.’

 

‘I’m not drunk enough to have this conversation yet,’ she informs him.

 

‘Let’s finish our pints then,’ Sirius says, ‘because I’d like to have it, and get it over with, and get to be your friend, if you’ll let me.’

 

She sighs again, makes a face at him, and says, ‘All right.’

 

Forty-five minutes, two full pints, and one whisky later, she holds up a hand, stopping Sirius mid-sentence, and says, ‘Ok, let’s talk about Remus.’

 

Sirius grins. ‘You don’t want to hear the rest of my thoughts on Scrimgeour’s bad Auror policies?’

 

‘I-‘ Tonks laughs. ‘I mean, I agree with you. Completely. But.’ She bites her lip. ‘I’m really sorry about everything.’

 

‘I really don’t want you to apologise,’ Sirius says earnestly.

 

‘I feel like a stupid child.’

 

‘Why?’

 

She shakes her head. ‘I thought I met the love of my bloody life, and then it turns out he’s dating my cousin. Who is a man. So not only was he taken, but he was never even interested in me. And Molly said, “Oh, you’re not the first to fall in love with a gay man,” but that’s not exactly _comforting_ , you know?’

 

‘If it makes you feel better,’ Sirius says, ‘Remus isn’t… he’s slept with women.’

 

Tonks cocks her head to the side. ‘Oddly, I guess that does make me feel a little bit better.’

 

‘That’s why I told you.’

 

‘But Sirius, he’s not going to sleep with _me_.’

 

‘Well, no, I don’t think he is.’

 

‘Because he’s in love with you.’

 

Sirius shrugs. ‘I can’t say I’m sorry about _that_.’

 

‘I don’t want you to,’ Tonks says, shaking her head emphatically. ‘That’s not what I mean. I mean that, I feel like a stupid child, because I didn’t see any of that. I just saw that he was nice to me, and he was a good listener, and a good person.’

 

‘And deadly handsome,’ Sirius suggests.

 

‘Obviously,’ Tonks says glumly. ‘They should rename “silver fox” to “silver werewolf” in his honour.’

 

Sirius laughs. ‘I like that.’

 

‘But Sirius, he made me feel like I was the most important person whenever I talked to him. And then it turns out that that’s what he does to everyone. After you left the meeting where we were all debating Dumbledore’s successor, that’s what everyone said.’

 

‘That’s his armour,’ Sirius says gently. ‘I mean, he is genuinely a good person. But he also keeps people from asking uncomfortable questions of him by making them talk about themselves. I’ve seen him do it,’ he shrugs, ‘a hundred times.’

 

‘And I didn’t get that I was just one of that hundred,’ Tonks says bitterly.

 

‘He likes you,’ Sirius says. ‘Really. He’s,’ he shakes his head, ‘like I said, he’s a hard man to read.’

 

‘How did you know?’

 

‘Know what?’

 

‘That he loved you.’

 

‘He told me,’ Sirius says quietly. ‘But, believe me, it took a lot longer than I wanted it to. I was in love with him for ages.’

 

‘Did you tell him?’

 

Sirius nods. ‘After a while. After a year or so of thinking about it. We had a fight about…’ He remembers all of it – ‘well, about something stupid. Something not worth explaining. But the only way that I could see to resolve the fight was to tell him how I felt.’

 

‘When was this?’

 

‘Our last year at school.’

 

‘You were together then?’

 

‘Not quite. It took him about six months to wrap his head around it.’

 

‘But I mean,’ Tonks looks shocked, ‘you were together during the first war?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘And you got back together? After everything that happened?’

 

Sirius grins at her. ‘Did you really think that he would get together with me for the first time while I was skulking around my mother’s old house?’

 

‘I just,’ Tonks shakes her head. ‘I can’t imagine.’

 

‘It’s weird,’ Sirius says. ‘I’ll admit that.’

 

‘But it works.’

 

‘For the most part.’ Sirius raises an eyebrow at her. ‘I was jealous of you, for a bit.’

 

‘Really?’ she asks. ‘Because reflecting on it, I had zero chance with him.’

 

‘It didn’t feel that way to me,’ Sirius says. ‘You’re young, you’re free to go wherever you like, which I wasn’t at the time, you’re,’ he shrugs, ‘well, to be perfectly honest, you’re in a lot better mental state than I am.’

 

Tonks looks at him for a moment. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says quietly.

 

‘ _I’m_ sorry,’ Sirius says. ‘I should have talked to you sooner.’ Tonks looks bleak for a moment, so Sirius says, ‘And at any rate, if anyone can understand how you’re feeling about him, it’s me.’

 

‘You were really in love with him for a year and a half before he did anything about it?’

 

Sirius nods.

 

‘That sounds miserable,’ she says.

 

‘I was seventeen. Being miserable was kind of my thing.’

 

‘Hey,’ Hestia slides into the booth next to Sirius. ‘Are you two getting privately drunk together?’

 

‘Sort of,’ Sirius says. ‘Why are you still here?’ Sirius doesn’t know Hestia very well – she’s in the new generation – but he does know that she’s married. ‘Isn’t your Muggle wife waiting at home?’

 

‘Actually Clara is trying to lure us all out to the club,’ Hestia says. ‘And I’m still here because you ditched your boyfriend to talk to Tonks.’

 

‘All of us?’ Sirius asks as Tonks says, ‘I am _not_ going out.’

 

‘It’s ladies’ night at the local gay club,’ Hestia says, ‘but of course men who aren’t going to aggressively try to pull the ladies are welcome.’

 

‘I don’t what you’re saying about me,’ Sirius says.

 

‘That you wouldn’t know how to pull a lady even if you wanted to try,’ Hestia says. ‘Come on, it’ll be good fun.’

 

Sirius looks at Tonks, who is busy looking torn. ‘All right, I’ll go out, but only if Tonks comes.’

 

‘No,’ Tonks protests. ‘No way.’

 

‘Clara has a lot of cute friends,’ Hestia suggests.

 

‘I don’t think they’re my type,’ Tonks says.

 

‘They’re not werewolves,’ Hestia says. ‘Oh god, are we not joking about that yet?’

 

Tonks groans and puts her head in her hands.

 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Hestia says, making an apologetic face at Sirius. ‘Remus got me really drunk and now I’m just saying whatever pops into my head.’

 

‘Come on,’ Sirius says. He reaches across the table and grabs Tonks’ hand. ‘Nothing will be better for all of us than stopping talking and going dancing.’

 

***

Sirius hasn’t been to a gay club since before Azkaban, and he’d never frequented them much when he was younger either, being best friends with James and Peter. He remembers his first visit vividly, in the tableau-style scenes of a night out when he was blacking out whole chunks of time from drink.

 

Eighteen year old Sirius is way too drunk, and way too flirty, in a way that he will never be in public again, because he’s going to learn his lesson tonight. He touches Remus in a raucous Friday night pub in the middle of Muggle London in some way that the huge man seated at the bar doesn’t like, and the man decks him, and in the middle of seeing stars and reeling sideways into a table and upending all the drinks on it, he catches a glimpse of Remus breaking his hand across the man’s face.

 

Next thing he remembers, they’re all out on the kerb and Remus is holding his hand and swearing fluently while James mends it with his wand. Peter triumphantly produces two bottles of vodka from behind the bar that he has hidden in his coat. Sirius keeps trying to get to Remus and simultaneously drink from one of Peter’s cheeky bottles and James, sounding panicked, keeps telling him to stop. Someone – maybe the big man – yells at them.

 

Next thing, they’re running full tilt down the street, Remus in the lead, and he takes them into the tight warren of streets in Soho, they pop out into some gardens, and Remus grabs Sirius’s hand and drags him somewhere, into a queue, James or someone pays their entry, Sirius has no idea, he’s so drunk, and then they are inside a dark, heaving space whose music is so loud that Sirius feels it more in the vibration of his organs than in his ears.

 

Next thing, and Peter’s eyes are enormous. Two muscular men wearing very little are full on snogging and grinding beside him. Sirius can’t stop staring at them. They’re one of the sexiest things he’s ever seen. Isn’t someone going to deck them? Remus is yelling something at James. James shakes his head and grabs one of Peter’s bottles – the other seems to have gone somewhere, was it already empty? – and takes a big swig and then throws his hands up and starts _dancing_ with wild abandon. Remus is laughing, uproariously, and a minute later, Peter is too, but Sirius can’t hear anything, just see them doing it. He reaches for the vodka and instead connects with Remus’s hand.

 

Next thing, he’s dancing with Remus, and it will sound incredibly stupid when, appallingly hungover on the couch the next morning he tries to explain it to James, but he’s dancing the way he’s wanted to his whole life for the very first time. Remus has made him understand that this is all right here, and so he puts his hands all over Remus’s body, he grinds up against him and feels his hard cock through his trousers and he runs his hands over it through the fabric and completely loses himself in the music. Remus’s hands are all over him too, and Remus kisses him, right there, in the middle of all those people, in front of James and Peter even, who whistle and yell. Then someone tries to pull Peter and he says he’s taken, which seems to offend the man. James complains that no one wants to pull him. Everything is enormously funny. Sirius loves everyone. It is transgressive in a way he wishes it could always be, as if it’s perfectly normal to have a love like they do.

 

‘I wish there was a place like this to be a werewolf,’ Remus says to him on the way home, words that, no matter how drunk he is the moment he hears them, he will remember for the rest of his life.

 

***

Ladies night at Hestia’s local gay club is not quite as revelatory, especially now that he and Remus can walk down the street holding hands, but it is still fun to let go of their cares and dance to some pop music for a bit. Tonks receives a tremendous amount of attention from Hestia’s wife’s friends that doesn’t seem unwanted and Sirius and Remus make a graceful exit when she suggests shots.

 

‘Are we getting old?’ Sirius asks Remus. ‘I’m barely tipsy.’

 

Remus laughs and wraps his arms around Sirius on the street corner. ‘I rather thought you’d like to go home before we’re too drunk to fuck,’ he says romantically.

 

‘Well then by all means,’ Sirius says, ‘take me home.’


	22. Harry's Sixth Year, Winter, Part II

Albus appears at their garden gate early one morning. Sirius takes a moment to appreciate how very surreal it is that he is having a conversation with the most impressive wizard in the world whilst wearing his boyfriend’s tatty bathrobe, and then Remus puts a hand on his arm and steers him politely but firmly back into the house and towards the direction of the bedroom. When he returns a few minutes later, fully dressed, Remus and Albus are seated at the kitchen table drinking tea.

 

‘It’s all Sirius and Molly,’ Remus is saying.

 

‘The map?’ Sirius asks. He pulls out a chair and sits down; Remus pours him a cup from the kettle and slides it towards him.

 

‘Indeed,’ Albus says. ‘We should plan to meet with Molly. I would very much like to see it.’ He frowns. ‘It’s good that you two are working on keeping the Order organised and safe. I’m afraid I’ve gotten quite obsessed with a particular aspect of the Voldemort problem and have been neglecting all others.’

 

‘What part’s that?’ Remus asks.

 

‘It’s what I’ve come to ask you about,’ he says. ‘Sirius, specifically.’

 

‘All right,’ Sirius says, slightly taken aback.

 

‘I have reason to believe that Voldemort is using certain magical objects to channel his power,’ Albus says. ‘Certain _dark_ magical objects. But I’m having trouble locating them.’

 

Sirius, whose mind has been in map mode for months now, immediately starts thinking of cartographic magic solutions. ‘Well, hm, we could…’

 

‘I don’t think they’ll be possible to find using conventional magic,’ Albus says. ‘I think it requires deduction.’

 

‘“The little grey cells”,’ Remus murmurs, and Albus nods.

 

‘Sirius, when you were cleaning out your parents’ house, did you find any dark objects that seemed to have unusual power?’

 

Sirius almost laughs. ‘We found a tremendous quantity of dark objects,’ he says. ‘Remus even bought us some books about how best to dispose of them.’

 

‘Were there any you didn’t dispose of? Possibly that you couldn’t dispose of?’

 

Sirius thinks back, scouring through his memory. Every day away from Azkaban, it gets better, but there are still terrifying moments when he feels that he has forgotten things he _needs_ to have remembered, and he doesn’t fully trust himself.

 

Remus is watching him closely. He knows Remus knows what he’s thinking, and it calms him enough to focus.

 

‘Didn’t Kreacher keep some things?’ Remus asks him. ‘Some things we couldn’t get away from him?’

 

‘We can ask him,’ Sirius suggests.

 

‘Ah, excellent idea,’ Albus says. ‘Although I’ve found that he is not the most forthcoming of elves.’

 

‘He’ll do his best to lie his way out of it,’ Sirius says. ‘We have to think how to word the question.’ He hesitates. ‘By the way, when I talked to Kreacher last, he told me that my cousin Bellatrix Lestrange was asking about this too. About powerful magical objects.’

 

‘Bellatrix was?’ Albus asks. ‘That’s very interesting.’ Sirius senses something grim behind his voice, though Albus is as calm as ever. ‘Very interesting.’ He abruptly stands. ‘If she has spoken with him, that’s all I need to know.’

 

‘Oh,’ Sirius says, somewhat dumbly. ‘All right.’

 

‘We must set a time for you and Molly to show me that map,’ Albus says. ‘Soon. But for now, I need to go.’

 

Sirius stands to let him out the door, then remembers something else. ‘Wait, I don’t know if this is relevant, but we spoke with Ollivander’s apprentice recently.’

 

‘Go on,’ Albus says.

 

‘Ollivander has disappeared,’ Sirius says.

 

‘I know,’ Albus says, a slight note of impatience in his voice. ‘Some time ago, I believe.’

 

‘Right,’ Sirius says quickly. ‘His apprentice specifically asked us to tell you that he thinks it has to do with Ollivander’s knowledge of wandlore.’

 

Albus surveys him for a moment, then says, ‘Indeed, I would be shocked if that _wasn’t_ the reason.’

 

‘Ah,’ Sirius says. That seems to be all there is to say, so he opens the door. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he says, uselessly, and Albus nods and leaves.

 

Sirius shuts the door and looks back at Remus, who is chewing a fingernail and staring intently off to the side. ‘What was that all about?’ he asks, feeling helpless. ‘Was that the wrong thing to say?’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘We said we’d tell him,’ he says. ‘It does seem rather obvious though.’

 

Now Sirius feels stupid, and annoyed with himself. ‘Sorry,’ he snaps.

 

‘Don’t be,’ Remus says absently, which only exacerbates Sirius’s sudden mood. He has his mouth open to escalate the argument that Remus doesn’t yet know they’re having when a large barn owl appears at the window.

 

‘Who’s this, then?’ Sirius demands. The owl practically tosses a letter his way and flaps off haughtily. Sirius opens the letter, which is from Kingsley looking for some help, and looks up to tell Remus.

 

Who has disappeared from the room.

 

Sirius frowns and exits the kitchen. ‘Moony?’ he calls into the lounge. When he gets no answer, he marches across the room and into the bedroom. Remus is wearing a coat and throwing some parchment into a book bag on the bed. ‘What are you doing?’

 

‘I need to do some research,’ Remus says, and he still sounds distracted. ‘I’ll be back later.’

 

‘Right, I’ll just go help Kingsley then,’ Sirius says, exasperated.

 

‘Great,’ Remus says. He picks up the bag, slings it over his shoulder and says, ‘Wait, Kingsley?’ Sirius’s annoyed blink must trigger something in him, because he says, ‘What about Kingsley?’

 

‘He’s just sent us a letter,’ Sirius says, ‘requesting one of us come help him with something.’

 

Concern passes over Remus’s face. ‘Does he need me? Should I go?’

 

‘No.’ Sirius gives up on having a row. Law of diminishing returns, at this point. ‘What are you researching?’

 

‘Magical objects,’ Remus says. ‘And what Voldemort might be able to do with them.’

 

***

Remus’s educational history is not quite what he wishes it was. He’d left Hogwarts and been accepted to a program of study at St Cyprian’s, one of Oxford’s two magical colleges. The plan had been to become an academic, and to do research that would help Dark Creatures in their fight for equal rights with wizards. Unfortunately, the war and the reality of academia had intervened quickly. The Death Eaters’ stranglehold on transport methods had destroyed his ability to study in Oxford and live with Sirius (who was bound to London while he trained at the Ministry to be an Auror), and Remus’s supervisor had accepted a new position at the Mortimer Andrew Gates Institute of Cooperative Magic at University College London. By January of his first year at Oxford, desperately missing Sirius (and the other two as well) and feeling disconnected and useless, he had decided to transfer to London. He sat exams for a one year degree, passed with distinction, and then matriculated at UCL as a doctoral candidate. As he became more involved in the war, it became harder for him to keep up with his work, but he persevered as best he could. The fall of Voldemort roughly three and a half years later – taking James, Lily, Peter, and Sirius with him – put the final nail in the coffin of his PhD; he couldn’t stand to be in Britain, let alone the streets of central London that he had walked every day with them. He’d fled to the world beyond, and after not paying his fees for a few terms, UCL had quietly removed him from their student rolls.

 

He is, however, an alumnus of Oxford, which grants him lifetime access to the university’s library. He leaves the cottage’s protective shield, walks a short way down the path, whispers a protection spell, and steps into the turn to Apparate to Oxford’s public Apparition station. He is grateful, as he always is now, to arrive at his destination without having been accosted by Death Eaters. The station is deserted, and he steps out into the cold, wet streets alone.

 

It is a quick walk up the hill and across the centre of the city to the Bodleian, the university’s central library. Inside the vast yellow-stoned courtyard, Remus steps through the doorway – offset from the regularly spaced Muggle doorways – that signifies the School of Magic and its library. He presents his reader card at the front desk and walks rapidly up the worn stone stairs to the reading room he is seeking. Inside, he peers out through the eyes of the statue of King James, looking down at the rainy courtyard, now crowded with tourists outfitted in bright yellow macs. Then he turns his attention to the bookshelves.

 

Hours later, seated at one of the long readers’ tables and breathing in the scent of polished wood and old books, he still feels no closer to understanding what it is that Albus – and Bellatrix, presumably on the orders of her master – are seeking. Nearly every book on the topic of dark magical objects is stacked in front of him, and he’s been through each one.

 

_Albus had said that he is trying to learn as much about Voldemort as he can…his family, his past…_

 

Remus leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers underneath his chin, thinking hard. Albus seems intent upon unravelling Voldemort’s motives. Remus has very little idea who he was or what he was like before he became Voldemort. He had been a student at Hogwarts, and Remus knows he had a different name at school, Tom Riddle. He had once sought the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and when he didn’t get it, he’d cursed it – Remus knows that because Albus had warned him that he’d only be a professor for one year.

 

But what, really, does Voldemort want? Power? Remus isn’t sure about that. He knows Voldemort doesn’t want to govern, and doubts that he wants to rule. It seems like a lot of trouble. That had been more clearly his goal last time, but this time, he seems to be doing something different – something subtler. Last time, of course, he’d wound up with the Ministry arrayed against him, whereas this time he’s managed to divide it. During the first war, the Minister had scurried to Albus for help constantly. Afterwards, Fudge had done that for years too. Then Fudge had stopped after Voldemort’s mysterious return, and Scrimgeour similarly seems to have no use for Albus. Voldemort is sowing discord and misinformation. And without Albus’s influence, the Ministry is moving towards a more authoritarian, wizards-first position, than it has been for some time.

 

Remus leans forward on the desk, idly flipping through a book. If Voldemort doesn’t want to govern, then what does he want?

 

Eradication of Muggle-born wizards seems high on his list, but why?

 

 _They’re a common enemy,_ Remus thinks. _The old guard will be behind him for that. Same for harsh laws on werewolves and vampires, and re-allowing Muggle hunting_ …

 

And the old guard – the old wizarding families like the Blacks, and the Malfoys, and many others – they are often the keepers of ancient magical objects. The kinds that have accrued enormous power over the years. These artefacts are passed down through generations.

 

They might include wands, he supposes, trying to tie it back to Ollivander, and wandlore. But Bellatrix wasn’t asking Kreacher about wands. She was asking about dark magical objects in general. As was Albus.

 

 _But what could you do with a dark magical object? What could you do that Voldemort would want? You could bend the world to your desires. And if your desires are to eradicate Muggles…_ Remus is thinking himself in circles. He stands and walks to the massive window that looks outward from the library. The Bridge of Sighs is resolutely scenic despite the rain, and a huddle of tourists stand underneath it, fingers up in the peace sign, waiting for their friend to take a photo. Remus wonders what the Muggles are making of this Dementor-driven weather.

 

Staring down at them, he tries to think how this feels different than the last war. The wizarding world feels inhumane right now, as if they’ve circled the wagons to protect what they can against the encroaching shadows, and all the gains that they’d made – better protections for Muggle born wizards, for example – are being forgotten or actively changed. He seems to remember that last time they’d felt more united, but he’s not sure if he’s just putting a rose-coloured tint on the past. Voldemort being out in the open had made him seem more unacceptable, certainly. But he had still had his supporters, many of them at the highest levels…

 

Remus remembers Professor Conrad.

 

During his year at Oxford, he’d been on a scholarship for students from underprivileged backgrounds. It included a termly dinner at the high table, where ordinarily only faculty and guests could sit. It was an opportunity for networking with professors and alumni. The first term, he had brought Peter, because Sirius had had some training that meant he couldn’t make it. Peter had been the perfect dinner date for a black-tie event in the poshest place either of them had ever been – they’d giggled their way through the arcane rituals and helped each other with the dress code and been appropriately awed by the expensive wine and oak-panelled rooms. Remus had been crap at networking, but it was all right, because they’d had a fantastic time.

 

The second term, Sirius had been able to come, and things had gone rather disastrously.

 

Sirius arrives in Oxford in a flying car – the first of his absurd transportation purchases, soon to be topped by a motorcycle – and he and Remus spend a delightful afternoon in bed in Remus’s college room. Remus has bought a nice (one pound up from what was on offer) bottle of wine to drink while they prepare for dinner. In the shower, he sets his glass up on the high window ledge and fifteen minutes later emerges clean, damp, and tipsy. Sirius is just finishing putting on his black-tie robes when Remus emerges.

 

(Earlier in the day, he’d stupidly offered to find some robes for Sirius to borrow, and Sirius had given him a strange look and said that he owned them already, thanks, because sometimes Remus manages to forget what family Sirius comes from, but Sirius never does.)

 

Sirius looks stunning, of course; he’s had a glass of wine and his high cheekbones have a little flush to them. Every time they are apart for any length of time – and it had been three weeks before today – Remus forgets just how very handsome Sirius is. It’s a bit like walking out of a cave into blinding sunlight.

 

The problem, of course, is that Sirius also _knows_ that he is this handsome. He sees Remus looking, leans close, and breathes in his ear, ‘I’m going to bend you over the desk when we get back.’ Remus gets a hard-on so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t lose his towel. Then the bell tolls for dinner and he has to rush into his robe.

 

It’s easy, at dinner, to present Sirius as his friend; after all, that’s what they were for six and a half years and that’s what they are in public still. They sit beside each other and Remus is prepared to just talk to Sirius the way he’d just talked to Peter last time, when someone across from them says, ‘Aren’t you Sirius Black?’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius says, startled.

 

Remus recognises one of the fellows of the college, but he doesn’t know his name or what he studies.

 

‘Professor Walter Conrad,’ the man says, extending a hand to Sirius. ‘I know your father.’

 

‘Oh,’ Sirius says, a bit awkwardly, ‘yes, pleased to meet you.’

 

Someone comes by with wine and Conrad leans back and lets him pour. Then he leans forward again and says to Sirius, ‘I do hope your family troubles are for a teenage reason, and not politics.’

 

Remus feels Sirius go still beside him; his own heart skips a beat.

 

‘It’s complicated,’ Sirius says, much too pleasant.

 

‘You’ll come around, I’m sure,’ Conrad carries on, ‘to accepting that your family is correct. Once you’re older, and you’ve experienced more of the world.’

 

Remus wants to slap Conrad in the face; he might as well be waving a red flag in front of Sirius’s eyes.

 

‘So you think that people with Muggle parents should be some kind of second class citizens?’ Sirius asks, his pleasant tone now undergirded with aggression.

 

‘“Second class citizens” is of course the leftie term for anyone you think is being treated unfairly,’ Conrad says, waving a hand. ‘But to be a wizard is a privilege.’

 

‘A privilege you’re born with,’ Sirius snaps.

 

‘Just like money,’ Conrad replies, smiling at Sirius. ‘Right?’

 

‘Just because I was born with money doesn’t mean I deserved it,’ Sirius says quietly.

 

‘“Deserve” is such a strange word,’ Conrad replies, sounding bored. ‘You were born with it, you have it, why wouldn’t you want to protect it?’

 

‘Magic isn’t a finite resource,’ Remus tries.

 

‘Is it not?’ Conrad asks, barely looking at him. ‘Then why is it so scarce? Less than 2% of the population will have any magical ability at all.’

 

Remus wonders if that’s true. He’s never looked at the numbers.

 

‘I’m a demographic historian,’ Conrad says, obviously reading Remus’s silence.

 

‘We have a friend,’ Sirius says, ignoring this, ‘completely Muggle born, her sister is a Muggle, and she’s a brilliant witch. One of the top students in our year.’

 

‘Oh of course,’ Conrad says. ‘Anecdotally, it happens. Now who knows what would be proven if she were tested… perhaps a wizard back in her family, repressed magic, or maybe that she’s not all that good, just been given special treatment… but it does certainly happen.’

 

‘Not to mention,’ Sirius continues, ‘that I know of another wizard, his mother is a Muggle…’

 

Remus kicks Sirius sharply under the table, but Conrad has already caught on. ‘Even Oxford admits some,’ he says, smirking in Remus’s direction, but not, Remus is certain, directly at him. That would imply some level of engagement. ‘But the fact of the matter is, those are statistical anomalies. People who are Muggle born are simply not up to achieving the highest levels of wizardry, in general. There’s plenty of research to back it up, much of it done right here.’

 

‘And so what would you propose?’ Remus asks, more to derail Sirius from actual violence than because he’s interested.

 

‘Confining the Muggle born to a particular Hogwarts house, for a start,’ Conrad suggests. ‘Not allowing real wizard children to be held back by them.’

 

‘“Real wizard children”?’ Sirius repeats, much too loudly. Others around the table look up, startled. Remus considers faking that he’s choking to stop the conversation, but isn’t sure Sirius will notice.

 

‘Nearly all upper level careers are filled by people who are at least two generations pureblooded,’ Conrad says. ‘That’s peer reviewed research.’ Remus can tell that he’s relishing how upset he’s made Sirius, and that makes him angry.

 

‘No wonder,’ he says, leaning forward, his career in academia be damned, ‘when nepotism plays a huge role in our society. How much time did you waste writing up that brilliant conclusion? Purebloods call in their connections to see that their children are appointed to good positions. Next I’m sure you’ll be publishing about how dragon burns are painful.’

 

Sirius laughs, which is all that Remus cares about at the moment. Conrad rolls his eyes. ‘What is it you study?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow. In a mocking tone, he says, ‘Dark creatures are all right, honest?’

 

‘Better than your bunk about Purebloods and real wizards,’ Sirius says. ‘Honestly, it’s no wonder you and my father know each other. You probably like each other, too.’

 

‘Your father is on the right side of history,’ Conrad informs Sirius earnestly. ‘And I hope for everyone’s sake that you get there too.’

 

‘Me?’ Sirius asks, incredulous. ‘My father doesn’t want anything to do with me.’

 

But Remus sees where the argument is going before Conrad opens his mouth and says, ‘You are from one of the oldest Pureblood families in Britain. It’s your duty to your family – and to all wizards – to have children.’

 

Remus has previously believed that it is impossible to do a genuine spit take, but, here it is: Sirius, who has been angrily draining his wine glass, inhales hard and starts coughing. ‘It’s my _duty_?’ he manages.

 

‘We are at a crossroads,’ Conrad says, and now he seems to have moved beyond the role of professor looking for a debate and more into genuine personal ideology. Remus finds him much more repugnant now. ‘The wizarding world stands at the edge of a precipice. Purebloods have to defend who we are as a race. And people like you are, quite frankly, traitors. When the Dark Lord-’

 

‘I won’t,’ Sirius says, and he stands up so abruptly that his chair falls over backwards. The noise and action brings the rest of the dining hall to a halt. Remus shuts his eyes for a second and tries to wake up from this nightmare. ‘I won’t,’ Sirius repeats, in a ringing tone, and _everyone_ is looking and listening. ‘You’re the traitor,’ Sirius adds, brandishing his wine glass. ‘We’re trying to have a, a,’ he looks to Remus for help.

 

Remus suggests, very quietly, ‘An inclusive society?’

 

‘That,’ Sirius spits at Conrad. ‘An inclusive society. And you’re selling us out to a monster.’

 

‘You’re making a fool of yourself,’ Conrad says quietly enough that only Remus and Sirius can hear him. ‘I hope you’re pleased. And I hope equally that someday you’ll look back on this and feel terrible at your mistakes.’ He leans forward and says, very, very quietly, ‘You’re a blood traitor, not worthy of the name Black.’

 

‘Good,’ Sirius snarls. ‘I don’t want it.’ And then he exits, very loudly, stage left, pushing past his downed chair, around the backs of a dozen fellows, down the step from high table, and out the long length of the dining hall, the heels of his dress shoes clacking with every step. It takes fully thirty seconds of riveted attention from the rest of the dinner-goers before he reaches the door to the hall and slams it shut behind him. Remus sits for a second, then quietly folds his napkin, places it on the table, stands, rights Sirius’s chair, and follows him, without looking up once, out of the still-silent hall.

 

Sirius has run down the two flights of stairs to the quad and is circling the grass like a dog in a cage when Remus finds him.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says immediately, and Remus shakes his head.

 

‘ _I’m_ sorry. I had no idea. I feel…’

 

‘I meant it,’ Sirius says, obviously still wound up. His hair is mussed, as if he’s been tugging at it. ‘I don’t want to be a Black.’ He gives Remus a plaintive look. ‘Can I be a Lupin instead?’

 

‘Of course,’ Remus says. He tries to joke. ‘I mean you’ll be sent to a separate House at Hogwarts…’ Sirius does not laugh, so Remus switches tack. ‘What an absurd thing to say.’

 

‘My family believes all that,’ Sirius says, voice shaking. ‘Every bit of it. Christmas of my first year, my mother demanded to know the names of everyone in Gryffindor and forbade me from being friends with non-Purebloods.’

 

Remus laughs, startled. ‘ _I’m_ not a Pureblood,’ he says.

 

‘I _know_ ,’ says Sirius. ‘She forbade me from being friends with you.’

 

Remus blinks and looks at him. ‘Well,’ he says, absurdly touched. ‘Well, thank you.’

 

Sirius waves a hand to indicate that it’s nothing. ‘The point is, they believe this. And they are powerful. As discussed.’

 

‘And rich.’

 

‘And willing to give money to Voldemort’s causes.’

 

Remus sighs. He’s kind of too drunk to be having this conversation. ‘I don’t know what…’

 

‘Remus, Professor Dumbledore didn’t want me in the Order,’ Sirius says abruptly.

 

‘What?’ Remus snaps back to focus on Sirius. ‘Why on earth not?’

 

‘He thought I might be compromised by my family,’ Sirius says. ‘He thought that they’d be the ones fighting on Voldemort’s side and he didn’t want to make me choose. I had to tell him, that’s not how this will be. But I had to go to him, after James joined, and ask.’

 

Remus feels a moment of guilt that he had listened to Dumbledore and not told Sirius anything about it. He wishes he’d been the one to tell him. But this is months after the fact, and Sirius is just telling him now? That hurts. Still, he doesn’t want to fight. ‘That’s very heroic,’ he says, and he means it.

 

‘I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.’ Sirius does look genuinely sorry.

 

Remus puts his arm around his shoulders and says, ‘No matter. It wasn’t a very nice dinner anyway. Let’s go get a kebab.’

 

Now, separated from that night by twenty-five years (but less than a mile), Remus still isn’t sure what Voldemort himself wants. He feels like a palimpsest onto which wizards can project their worst fears and worst ideas.

 

‘Remus Lupin?’ a small voice at his shoulder asks.

 

He turns and sees one of the junior librarians. She is holding out a note to him. ‘Is that you?’

 

He nods and takes it. ‘Thank you,’ he says, recognising Sirius’s handwriting and a second later, as he is in the act of unfolding it, remembering that he is supposed to be somewhere this evening. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he says, to no one in particular. The librarian makes an annoyed noise and he looks up to see her surveying the enormous pile of books on his table. With a flick of her wand, she sends all of them flying back to their shelves, humans in the room be damned; Remus ducks, then grabs his bag, and walk-runs his way to the public Apparition point.

 

He hits the one on the other side in Kings Cross at high speed and emerges slightly dizzy and nauseous to find Sirius waiting, conspicuously looking at his watch.

 

‘Hello darling, very sorry, I’m terrible, I forgot,’ Remus says breathlessly.

 

‘Well, you’re here now,’ Sirius says. He reaches out, takes Remus’s scarf, and tugs him close. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

 

‘No,’ Remus says. ‘Though I’m not sure what it is exactly.’ He leans in and kisses Sirius. ‘Am I still in trouble?’

 

‘I didn’t know you’d noticed,’ Sirius says, but his tone says an emphatic _no_.

 

‘You were radiating death beams at me,’ Remus replies. He kisses him again and gently extracts his scarf from his hand ‘I’m not completely thick.’

 

‘It’s lovely to see you,’ Sirius says.

 

‘You too,’ Remus agrees, and his voice can’t even convey how fervently he means it.

 

‘Molly, Arthur!’ Sirius barks over Remus’s shoulder. Remus turns to see them walking up, hand in hand, and looking slightly out of breath themselves.

 

‘We got Ministry cars,’ Arthur says to Sirius in greeting. ‘Hello, how are you?’

 

‘Oh,’ Remus says, remembering that they were all supposed to have gotten together and sorted out a mode of transport for getting to the Weasleys’ for dinner this evening.

 

‘Don’t worry,’ Sirius whispers in his ear _sotto voce_. ‘I took care of it.’

 

‘We heard you were doing something important for the Order.’ Molly smiles at him, but she looks worried.

 

‘Mostly banging my head against a wall,’ Remus says. He glances at Arthur. ‘Maybe you have some ideas… Albus and Bellatrix Lestrange are both interested in dark magical objects. I have no idea why and I’m trying to figure out what Voldemort might want with them.’

 

‘Hm,’ Arthur says, ‘well, I’ll think about it, but I mostly work with Muggle objects that someone has enchanted to be dark, rather than real dark objects.’

 

‘Oh, it’s the Weasleys!’

 

They all turn to see a pair of serious-looking Muggles approaching them.

 

‘Hermione’s parents,’ Molly explains. ‘Hello! Wonderful to see you!’ She introduces them to Remus and Sirius.

 

‘Harry’s godparents?’ says Hermione’s father, looking startled.

 

‘Sadly Harry’s parents died when he very young,’ Remus explains. ‘We were their best friends.’

 

‘So kind of you to do that!’ Hermione’s mother exclaims.

 

‘It’s been our privilege,’ Sirius says. ‘But now I think the train is arriving…’

 

‘Go get them, we’ll just wait here,’ Hermione’s mother says, waving them on. ‘And so lovely to meet you both.’

 

They go through the barrier with Molly and Arthur; the train is there, billowing smoke and steam and making loud hissing noises. There are the kids, and then Remus is caught up in a flow of greeting Harry and the rest and listening to their chatter.

 

It isn’t until much later in the evening – when they’re all sitting in the Weasleys’ lounge, drinking wine after dinner and attempting to digest the mountains of food that they’ve been served, that Remus remembers the morning, when Sirius had gone to see Kingsley.

 

‘How was it?’ he asks.

 

‘We’re setting up a wireless network,’ Sirius says. ‘To communicate with people all over the country.’

 

‘Brilliant,’ Remus says.

 

‘Yeah,’ Sirius agrees. ‘I rather thought so too. A friend of Fred and George’s thought of it, but Kingsley and I needed to do some reconnaissance on how to patch into the WWN.’

 

Remus looks around at them all, happy and (for the moment) safe and feels, for the first time in a while, that they can win this thing.

 

***

While Sirius and Tonks had their heart to heart at the pub, Remus was briefly cornered by Fleur Delacour.

 

‘Remus,’ she says in her heavy accent and without greeting, ‘I would like to speak with you.’

 

‘Of course,’ he replies, taken aback. ‘Let’s get a table.’ He has never spoken with Fleur outside of perfunctory comments at Order meetings, which she has been attending since the start of autumn. Today is the first time he’s ever seen her without Bill, who had had some work reason for not being able to attend. Now that Sirius and Molly are apparently confidants – a development Remus did _not_ anticipate – he has heard a bit about Fleur from Molly’s side of the story, which seems to be that she’s rude, arrogant, and in no way deserving of Bill.

 

‘I ‘ave four friends,’ she says as they sit, ‘who ‘ave come over from ze continent to fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.’

 

Remus is startled. ‘From Beauxbatons?’

 

‘Three are from zere,’ she says, ‘and one from Italy who came to our school on exchange.’

 

‘How old are they?’

 

‘Zis is what I want to talk to you about. Zey ‘ave all just finished school in ze summer – we finish a bit later zan Hogwarts.’ She looks up at him imploringly and Remus feels that Veela magic work on him and wonders for a second what it’s like to live with that power and how much of it is voluntary. ‘I know zat you and Sirius were very young when you joined ze Order. Is zat right?’

 

Remus nods. ‘Just out of school ourselves.’

 

She looks relieved. ‘Zat is what Arthur said when I told him about my friends. He said zat I should speak with you about zem, and zat you would be happy to help zem.’

 

‘Help them how?’

 

‘I want zem to be able to join ze Order.’

 

Remus frowns, thinking. ‘We would have to be certain they are not spies.’

 

Fleur looks taken aback. ‘Zey are my friends!’ she snaps.

 

Remus sees why Molly might not have taken to her. ‘Peter Pettigrew was my best friend,’ he says gently, ‘for ten years.’

 

Fleur at least has the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘I am sorry,’ she says. ‘I ‘ad forgotten.’

 

‘It’s quite all right,’ Remus says, wondering for a fleeting second what exactly people say about him and Sirius behind their backs, ‘and I truly don’t mean to imply anything about your friends. But we must be careful.’

 

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I understand.’

 

‘Are they here now?’

 

‘Yes, zey are staying with me.’

 

‘Why did they say they came?’

 

Fleur gives him a look like he’s stupid. He’s definitely feeling sympathetic to Molly. ‘We are not idiots in Europe,’ she says, ‘no matter what you English think.’

 

‘Just so you know,’ Remus says, trying not to smile, ‘I’m Welsh.’

 

‘Fine, you British,’ she says, unperturbed. ‘I haven’t missed your politics here.’

 

‘Fair,’ Remus admits, ‘though not all of us.’

 

‘My friends, zey can see what is coming,’ she says, ignoring that. ‘What is sweeping Britain. There are strains of it in France as well.’ Remus can see that it is hard for her to admit that, and appreciates it. ‘If ze hatred that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is spreading were to win here, it would be easier for it to triumph at home. It could engulf all of us.’ She looks at him evenly. ‘Your people came to help us when Grindelwald was in power. Now we want to help you.’

 

Remus studies her earnest face for a moment. ‘I’m touched that they – and you – came,’ he says sincerely. ‘How can I help?’

 

So now he is here: in London, in the lashing rain, with an appalling cold, two days before Christmas, and there are four young Europeans with him. They are _very_ green.

 

He and Sirius had had a fight about him going out with this cold. Sirius had said, very reasonably, that he worries about Remus and wants him to take care of his health; Remus had snapped angrily at him about his concern and now feels like absolute shit about it.

 

But if he doesn’t attend to Order business, someone else will have to answer the call. And what if that person is injured, or killed? Remus could never live with himself.

 

‘Tell us what to do,’ says the Italian one, a curly-haired woman named Guiliana.

 

Remus surveys their faces, which read: solemn, determined, scared, and very solemn. ‘Listen,’ he says gently, ‘I won’t lie to you, this is a grim business. But we can probably get through it better if we have a little humour with each other.’ This statement has zero impact. Remus blows his nose into a handkerchief and says, ‘All right, tell me what I told you before we came out. Let’s review it.’

 

Guiliana says, ‘We will use what we learned when we studied the shape of the building.’

 

Baptiste says, ‘We will always stay in pairs.’

 

Nolan says, ‘We will keep our wands ready.’

 

And Salome says, ‘We will be patient and vigilant.’

 

 _Good_ , Remus thinks. _At least they listen_. He nods and blows his nose.

 

Remus has chosen this particular adventure to bring them along for training purposes because it does not seem like it will be dangerous. Kingsley has identified a strange operation on one of the highest floors of a skyscraper in the city of London. There’s dark magic going on up there, but it doesn’t seem too dark. Remus has dealt with remarkably stupid Death Eaters before and suspects that he will again, probably tonight. They enter through the front door; they have all cast glamours that will not allow the hundreds of CCTV cameras to see them. They go into the lift and Giuliana looks at Remus.

 

‘Floor four zero?’ she asks quietly, and Remus nods.

 

The lift has clear glass for two of its walls, and the city, lit up at night, flashes by them; the other two are mirrors. Remus looks at the five of them in reflection and feels old. Then the doors ding open, they step out, and walk up the stairs as silently as they can to the next floor, the one Kingsley has identified. A quick Alohomora and they emerge into a dark space full of long tables with computers on them. Tall chairs are spaced out at random intervals. There are voices down the hallway. Remus feels the others tense and thinks, _Good_. He’s suddenly very aware of how much he would like to have any more experienced member of the Order with him.

 

But.

 

Kingsley said this was a low-level operation.

 

Then why does Remus feel this ominous weight pressing down on –

 

‘Someone is here,’ says a woman’s voice, and Remus’s heart stops. Bellatrix.

 

This is emphatically not a low-level operation.

 

He jerks a hand at the four of them – _get back to the stairs_ – and they all look at him, goggle-eyed. He jerks the hand again and they scamper. He hears her footsteps and ducks down behind one of the tables. They of course don’t have anything beneath them – they’re supported on tall, spindly legs, he thinks they’re standing desks, because of course they are, fuck this modern design aesthetic, because it’s never going to protect him. He sees the others still making their way to the stairs and urges them mentally to go faster. He sees Giuliana look back as if looking for him, bless her heart, and then he sees Bellatrix come into the office.

 

Her wand speed is always shocking to him. He has his out already but she almost beats him with a spell.

 

Almost.

 

He hits the computer nearest her and it explodes in a cacophony of sparks. She shrieks – he had hoped that a Muggle device would be the most intimidating thing to throw at her – and he hits the whiteboard on her other side. It falls off the wall and shatters; he flings the pieces at her and starts retreating underneath the tables, knocking computers off of them as he goes. She is now firing back, and her aim is close, if a bit wild. Those aren’t stunning spells either.

 

‘Remus,’ whispers a tiny French voice beside him; he takes a second to look and sees that the others are pinned down behind a table. They all look frankly terrified. The door to the stairs is fifteen feet away, and requires movement across an open space. Bellatrix is calling for others and Remus can hear them coming over the crackling sound of small fires as some of the computers burn.

 

Bellatrix tried to murder Sirius. Remus loathes her, but he also knows that he doesn’t have the will to use one of the Unforgivables on her or anyone for that matter. He stands and fires off a spell that cracks the glass behind her. The wind starts to howl into the building, whipping up papers on desks. ‘Go,’ he says hoarsely to the other four.

 

‘But,’ Nolan says, and then Remus is lifted bodily off his feet and shoved, as if by an invisible hand, out the window.

 

For a second he is falling and it is the greatest terror he’s ever felt but then he remembers that he is a wizard. Bellatrix will have tried to temporarily impede his ability to Apparate but he’s practiced for this and he can – if he tries – he can –

 

He manages to stop two feet above the street, but using magic to counteract the force of the fall is incredibly draining and a second later he lets go and lands hard on his back.

 

He lies on the ground for a moment, letting the fact that he has just plummeted some forty stories process through his brain. He notices that the rain has turned to sleet, and that it is very, very cold on his face.

 

Then he remembers that there are four young people still inside with a lot of Death Eaters and that he is responsible for them. He hauls himself to his feet and nearly collapses against a streetlamp. He braces himself on it, struggling to remain upright as he takes a second to breathe deep, seek inner peace, try to find his equilibrium, and when he’s just started to grasp it, he Apparates back to the battle.

 

No one is there. The window Bellatrix threw him out of is still broken, and the floor is slick with rain. Glass crunches underfoot but Remus is done teaching or playing or whatever you want to call it, he is done _fucking around_ where Bellatrix Lestrange is concerned. Wordlessly, without touching his wand, he sweeps the glass up magically and keeps it suspended in a tight ball beside his right hand. He is ready to throw it in her face.

 

But then, he doesn’t find her. All of the Death Eaters are gone. They have completely cleaned out a room and it is clear from the lingering scorched feel of magic that they were there and that they departed at high speed. Remus considers trying to trace them, but knows it would be suicidally stupid alone. He stalks through the rest of the rooms on the floor, just to be sure, and then allows the glass to fall to the floor. In the distance, he hears sirens. He goes to the stairwell and finds the four Europeans crouched together, having a whispered debate about what to do. They all look up at him, stunned in unison, when he opens the door. It suddenly all seems immensely funny.

 

‘So those were the Death Eaters,’ he announces. ‘Charming, aren’t they?’ They all blink and stare. ‘We’ve got to go,’ Remus adds, as he hears the sirens grow close. ‘Best just to Apparate somewhere nearby, I think.’

 

They make their way in short hops back to Fleur’s flat, where they collapse around the kitchen table. Fleur is out for the evening and they have the place to themselves. Remus is coughing up a fit and ignoring the blood trickling into his eye from a glass cut above his eyebrow. ‘Listen,’ he says to them, ‘if any of you want to go home, I’d completely understand.’

 

They look at each other, and then at him. ‘No,’ Giuliana says. ‘We are here to fight.’

 

***

On Christmas Eve morning, Sirius wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of sausages. Confused by Remus’s early morning rising, he also rises, pulls on a robe, and, yawning, walks into the kitchen. Remus is fully dressed, appears to have bathed, and has made enough food for a small army.

 

‘What…?’ Sirius asks, gesturing in confusion at the scene.

 

‘Good morning,’ Remus chirps, hustling to the doorway and pressing a cup of tea into Sirius’s outstretched hand.

 

‘What’s going on?’ Sirius asks. ‘Why are you awake? Why are you cooking breakfast?’

 

‘It’s a lovely day,’ Remus says. ‘I woke up and fancied a walk.’

 

Sirius looks out the window. It appears to be drizzling. ‘A lovely day?’ he repeats.

 

‘Yes, will you go on a walk with me?’

 

Sirius squints at him. ‘Where?’

 

‘Up the hill, I think. To get a view.’

 

‘A view of what?’

 

‘You know we can see the sea from there.’

 

Sirius looks again out the window. Still drizzling. ‘On a clear day…’

 

‘Sometimes you can go right above the cloud level.’

 

Sirius stares at Remus, who is watching him, biting his lip. He looks oddly nervous. ‘All right,’ Sirius says. ‘If that’s what you want to do.’

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says emphatically. ‘Please, sit, I’ll give you some food.’

 

Thirty minutes later, they are both thoroughly bundled up in warm, waterproof clothing, and have cast many spells to the same effect. Up the hill they go, slipping and sliding on the muddy path. For what feels to Sirius like hours, they struggle upward, out of breath, with nothing in sight but fog and rain. Finally, he stops.

 

‘Remus,’ he calls – Remus is a few steps ahead of him. He tries to see anything through the clouds. ‘The weather is quite miserable up here, don’t you think?’

 

Remus doesn’t answer. Sirius looks up at him and he’s staring off into the fog, eyes unfocused. A cold feeling – completely unrelated to the icy drizzle in the air – starts in Sirius’s stomach.

 

‘Moony, what is going on?’ he asks. ‘You’ve been completely distant for days and days now.’

 

Remus looks startled, but at least he looks at him. ‘Have I?’

 

Sirius nods. ‘And you insisted upon this walk despite the appalling weather, which means you have something you want to talk about, but you’re not talking about it.’

 

‘Oh.’ Remus hesitates. ‘Sorry, I just have a tremendous amount on my mind right now.’

 

Nothing more seems forthcoming. ‘Remus, are you mad at me?’

 

‘What?’ Remus shakes his head. ‘No. The opposite.’

 

Sirius is mollified, and slightly embarrassed. ‘Well, all right, fine. Makes sense. I mean, look at me.’

 

Remus grins. ‘Indeed, look at you.’

 

‘So the plan is to continue walking in the rain until…?’

 

‘I was thinking until we reach the top.’

 

‘How far off would you say that is?’

 

‘Soon,’ Remus says firmly, and turns around, and starts walking again.

 

The top is not soon by any definition except Remus’s own. Sirius is miserable and drenched despite repeated attempts, magical and apparel, to stay dry, and he spends much of the time thinking darkly to himself that Remus had better know how much he loves him.

 

‘I think we’re here,’ Remus announces suddenly, and Sirius crashes into him. The fog has intensified. ‘Careful,’ Remus adds, ‘it’s a bit cliffy.’

 

‘Remus,’ Sirius snaps, exasperated. ‘What exactly-‘

 

Remus pulls out his wand, and the clouds seem to fold away, pressing down into the valley below them like a deep, grey carpet. Above them, the sky is an icy blue, but clear. And – far in the distance – glinting in the sunlight – the sea.

 

‘Told you so,’ Remus says. His teeth are chattering.

 

Sirius twists around, looking at the view – the very tops of a few other hills, green and grey, with jutting rock spires, and below each one, a roiling sea of grey cloud – and then back at Remus. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he admits.

 

‘I’m sorry the walk was terrible,’ Remus says. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be any nicer on the way back, either.’

 

‘Not after you stuffed the clouds down even further into the valley,’ Sirius says. ‘But did you clear your head? Have a good think?’

 

Remus smiles. ‘Yes, I did.’

 

‘Good,’ Sirius says, and he means it. Remus has been acting strangely for _weeks_. ‘Can we go back now? I’m bloody freezing.’

 

‘Just…’ Remus hesitates. ‘Sirius.’

 

Sirius is mystified. ‘What?’

 

‘You came with me,’ Remus says. ‘Despite the weather.’

 

‘Oh,’ Sirius says, mystification deepening still further, ‘I mean, yes, I… yes. That’s quite all right. You, well, you wanted to walk. And you clearly needed the space to think.’

 

‘Yes, but you didn’t have to come with me.’

 

Exasperated, Sirius says, ‘You _invited_ me. You cooked me breakfast!’

 

‘I know,’ Remus says. ‘But you made the choice. You always come with me.’

 

‘Because _I love you_ ,’ Sirius says, each word emphasized, as if speaking to an idiot – which Remus seems to be, at the moment.

 

‘I love you too,’ Remus says simply, no trace of sarcasm or rebuttal. ‘No matter the weather. No matter – no matter any circumstances.’

 

Sirius blinks at him. His heart is starting to beat very fast, though his brain hasn’t caught up to why yet. ‘Moony…’

 

Remus has had his hands in the pockets of his mac, but now he takes them out, and there’s something shiny in the palm of one. ‘Sirius.’

 

Sirius blinks, uncomprehending, at Remus’s hand and the shiny thing in it.

 

‘Padfoot,’ Remus continues. ‘Best friend and love of my life.’

 

‘Moony…’

 

Remus is looking directly at his face, completely calm. His palm is up, his hand open. The ring is there for Sirius to reach out and take. ‘Will you be my husband?’

 

***

They agree to not tell anyone that Sirius bursts into tears immediately after Remus asks, and also agree not to mention that Remus cries so hard on the way down that he can’t see the path very well and slips and falls, and since they are holding hands, he takes Sirius down with him, and they both get covered in mud.

 

Back in the cottage, they clean up while drinking tea, trying to warm up, because now they are late for Christmas dinner at the Weasleys’.

 

‘But Moony,’ Sirius says, hand on Remus’s arm – he hasn’t stopped touching him since he asked, isn’t sure when he’ll ever stop touching him – he’s genuinely considering putting off going to the toilet because of it – ‘why now?’

 

Remus tugs on a second jumper. ‘I’m tired of waiting,’ he says simply, ‘for the war to be over. I’m tired of putting off life.’ He takes Sirius’s hand – the hand now bearing the ring Remus had gotten for him – and says, ‘Imagine if I’d died without asking you.’

 

Sirius swallows so hard it hurts. ‘Oh, Remus.’

 

‘And,’ Remus says, ‘rather less romantic, but if you must go to hospital again, I won’t be shut out of your room. No one is going to just, you know, _give_ me the right to see my partner. So I have to take it.’

 

Sirius is definitely going to start crying again. ‘I think that’s romantic,’ he mumbles.

 

‘It shouldn’t have to be,’ Remus snaps. ‘I shouldn’t have to marry you for political reasons-’

 

‘But it’s not just political reasons, right?’

 

Remus stops, mid-righteous flow. ‘No,’ he says, clearly horrified. ‘That’s not what I meant at all. I’m, I’m, I’m just angry I even have to consider it.’ He puts a hand on either side of Sirius’s face and looks him carefully in the eyes. Sirius looks back, trying to see Remus’s face again for the first time. ‘We’ve been through a lot together,’ Remus says, and his voice wavers.

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius agrees, reaching up and putting his hands around Remus’s wrists, steadying him.

 

‘We almost didn’t make it.’

 

‘But we did,’ Sirius whispers.

 

‘The time we didn’t trust each other and believe each other was the worst time in my life,’ Remus says. ‘Aside from everything else it was too.’

 

Sirius nods, unable to speak.

 

‘Not to mention, James and Lily told me to do this a long time ago.’

 

Startled, Sirius laughs. ‘Did they?’

 

‘They were right,’ Remus says. ‘I wish they were here.’

 

‘Me too,’ Sirius says. He hesitates, then says, ‘When we got back together – after I came back – I wasn’t sure for a while if it was just nostalgia that was putting us together again. I was all mixed up about memory and what was happening when and what I really felt. But it was how you were ready to carry on what James and Lily asked of us – how despite completely reasonable fears you jumped right in to being half of Harry’s godparents. That’s what convinced me that this wasn’t just nostalgia. This is new, and it’s better than last time.’ He searches Remus’s face, sees the care in it and hopes he doesn’t start crying again. ‘Much better.’

 

‘Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again,’ Remus says. ‘I want to celebrate that. I want the whole world to look at us and know that we belong to each other.’

 

‘You should take the ring I bought. With James’s help. Remember it?’ Remus nods. ‘I’ll get you another if you don’t like that one, but-‘

 

‘I want it,’ Remus says, and he grins brilliantly. ‘I think I’ve wanted it since I learned it existed.’

 

Sirius finds the ring, and kisses Remus as he puts it on, and then the kissing gets a bit more heated, until Remus gently puts his hand on Sirius’s chest and pushes.

 

‘We have to go to Arthur and Molly’s,’ he says, and it sounds like it’s to remind them both.

 

***

The Burrow is overheated and steaming, crammed with all the Weasleys, Harry, and Fleur when they arrive. Sirius leaves Remus in the kitchen delivering the wine they’ve brought and goes to find Harry, who is playing some game with a lot of yelling involved with Ron and Ginny.

 

‘Sirius!’ Harry says, jumping up when he sees him.

 

Sirius gives him a warm hug and says, ‘Can we talk for a second?’

 

Harry leads him halfway up the stairs. ‘I think Bill and Fleur are up there,’ he says, making a face. ‘Is this ok?’

 

Sirius laughs – everything on earth is funny right now – and says, ‘This is fine. Listen…’ He stops, not even sure where to begin.

 

‘Did Remus ask you?’ Harry asks. ‘I see your ring.’

 

Sirius tries to tamp down his grin into a more normal human expression and fails. ‘He did,’ he says. ‘Did he talk to you about it?’

 

Harry nods. ‘When I saw him at Hogwarts a few weeks ago.’ He grins back. ‘You said yes, right?’

 

‘Obviously,’ Sirius says. ‘I was thinking…’

 

‘Yeah?’

 

‘Will you be my best man?’

 

‘Yes,’ Harry says immediately. ‘Absolutely. I mean,’ he pauses, ‘I’m not sure what kind of stag do I could plan for you…’

 

Sirius starts laughing again. He really can’t seem to stop. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about that. I just want you to be there with me on the day.’

 

‘Definitely,’ Harry says. ‘I wouldn’t miss it.’ He pauses. ‘And Sirius…’

 

‘As soon as we can adopt you,’ Sirius says, ‘we will. But, listen,’ he’s thought hard about how to say this, and he hopes it doesn’t come out sounding prepared. ‘Remus and I couldn’t get married for a long time. That didn’t make our relationship any less real. Just because it’s not a formal, legal thing,’ Sirius looks at Harry closely, who is watching him with big eyes, ‘we’re your godparents. We swore to James and Lily that we’d take care of you, and we will.’

 

Molly calls them to dinner. They hear ominous stirrings from above, give each other looks of mock horror, and go to the table together. Remus has saved him a seat and Harry sits across from them. As soon as Sirius sits down, he finds Remus’s hand, reaching for his, and holds it tightly in his lap under the table.

 

It occurs to Sirius halfway through eating that no one but Harry knows. Remus is talking animatedly to Arthur and eating with his left hand, cutting his ham with the side of his fork rather than stop holding Sirius’s with his right. Sirius is trying to concentrate on the conversation around him but he can’t stop looking over at Remus. Remus, soon to be his husband. He squeezes his hand and Remus squeezes back, getting a little smile on his face even as he’s listening to Arthur.

 

Then it’s time for toasts, and Harry says immediately, ‘Can I make one?’

 

‘Of course,’ Arthur says, sounding a little startled.

 

Harry looks at Sirius, ‘Can I?’

 

Sirius’s stomach dips and he feels Remus go still beside him. ‘Yes,’ he says. He feels everyone in the room looking at him, and then swivelling their heads to look at Harry.

 

‘First of all,’ Harry says, ‘thank you to the Weasleys for hosting me, and everyone, and for the delicious food.’

 

‘Any time,’ Arthur says, amidst other protestations from the rest of them.

 

Harry raises his glass. ‘To the Weasleys,’ he says, which is echoed boisterously by the rest of the table.

 

‘Second,’ Harry says, ‘I want to give a toast to my godparents.’ Harry pauses, with a bit of an air of the showman that reminds Sirius viscerally of prefect Lily holding court over her fellow Gryffindors. Then Harry grins, apparently unable to maintain the illusion of solemnity, and that’s pure James. ‘Today they decided to get married. Congratulations!’

 

There’s a moment of total pandemonium in which everyone is trying to congratulate them at once; Sirius can’t stop grinning again, and looks from Harry to Remus, who is blushing more than he thinks he’s ever seen him blush, and is staring down at the table, blinking hard. To give him a moment, Sirius puts his arm around Remus’s shoulder and says, ‘Thank you,’ several times over, while Fred and George shake his hand vigorously and Molly gets up and hugs them both.

 

‘How did it happen?’ Ginny asks, when things have calmed down somewhat and Remus seems more able to speak.

 

‘I expect the makers of the Marauders’ Map have a great story,’ Fred, or maybe it’s George, says, leaning forward over his plate.

 

‘We went for a walk up a hill,’ Sirius says.

 

Arthur frowns. ‘How was the weather?’

 

‘Not great,’ Remus and Sirius say together, and everyone laughs.

 

‘And at the top,’ Sirius continues, ‘he asked me. As simple as that.’

 

‘Did you have to think about it?’ Ginny asks. ‘Or did you say yes right away?’

 

‘Ginny!’ Molly says.

 

‘Just wondering,’ she shrugs.

 

‘I did not have to think about it,’ Sirius says, and he can feel himself grinning stupidly again.

 

‘We shall ‘ave to plan your wedding,’ Fleur says, to much general amusement, although she corners Sirius after dinner and he thinks for a second that she meant it.

 

Instead she asks, ‘Is zis the happiest day of your life?’ smiling like she knows the answer. Sirius grins back - his face is honestly getting a bit sore from it, but he can’t seem to stop, nor does he want to.

 

He says, ‘Yes.’

 

Fleur nods. ‘I am so happy for you both.’

 

But the truth is more complicated than that. The truth is that this is the _best_ day of his life so far, but it is not the happiest. He has already seen the happiest day of his life, and he knows exactly when and where it was, and he knows that no day going forward will be it, because Peter has betrayed them, and James is gone from this earth. On the happiest day of his life, he was ignorant of even the possibility of either of those things. The distinction between happiest and best seems suddenly very important to him, but he can’t explain it to Fleur. She is, compared to him, very young. He looks across the room to where Remus is standing, listening to something Bill is saying.  

 

Remus: the one person in this world who will always understand.

***

It is the summer after their seventh year, and the four of them are spending a few days at James’ parents’ house in Devon. Their N.E.W.T.s scores are due any day now, but not soon enough to be an intrusive worry. It is hot, and sunny – Sirius remembers no rain at all from this holiday – and some crucial facts are still true:

 

Sirius is not yet a member of the Order, nor does he know that his friends are.

 

James is still alive.

 

Peter hasn’t betrayed them yet.

 

Remus is Sirius’s brand new boyfriend, and he has gotten over the hard work of telling James and Peter, and life is wonderful.

 

They are traipsing down a path along some narrow waterway – a small river arm, maybe, Sirius doesn’t remember its name. James is tossing a snitch back and forth and Sirius is periodically transforming and chasing it, stealing it away from James and crashing into the underbrush, barking joyfully, circling back with it so James can release it again and Padfoot can affectionately nip at Remus’s hand on his way. It will be months more before he and Remus feel comfortable showing affection in front of James and Peter, but as a dog, he can’t help himself from expressing the pure joy in his heart.

 

They come to the wide spot in the river that they are certain only they know, and James, Peter, and Sirius-as-human start stripping down to their briefs. Remus always waits on the bank, not undressing or getting wet, tossing the snitch to them when it flies too far away, so no one waits for him before racing up the leaning log and leaping feet first into the water. Peter comes last, balling himself up, and spraying water everywhere. He surfaces, laughing, and James tackles him. Sirius shakes his wet hair out, his heart pounding from the icy cold water, and looks up towards Remus.

 

Remus has an arrested look on his face, staring at the water. Sirius twists around, wondering if there’s a snake, but with the racket James and Peter are making as they enthusiastically try to drown one another it doesn’t seem likely that there’s any wildlife left for miles.

 

‘What?’ Sirius calls to him.

 

‘Is the water nice?’ Remus asks. Sirius thinks there’s another question underneath this one.

 

‘Heavenly,’ James calls. ‘Except for this giant rat.’

 

Sirius grins at Remus. ‘Come dip in a toe, Moony. It’s too hot not to enjoy it.’

 

Remus says, ‘You know, I think I might come in.’ And he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

 

Sirius is so delighted he bursts into laughter. ‘Come in!’

 

‘Moony,’ says Peter, ‘can you swim?’

 

‘I’ve swum with you loads,’ Remus says, not looking up from his buttons.

 

‘As a wolf,’ Peter says. ‘Can you swim as a human?’

 

‘It can’t be that hard, can it?’ Remus asks. He sounds determined.

 

‘I’ll teach you!’ Sirius says.

 

‘Oh god, what will we tell your parents when you drown?’ James asks, splashing his way to Sirius’s side.

 

Remus pushes off his shirt and in one fluid motion tugs off his undershirt. If it wasn’t so cold in the water, Sirius would probably get a hard-on just from watching the way he does it – but the water is very cold. James obviously sees Sirius watching him and smacks the back of his head; Sirius manages to look away and James makes an exaggerated wanking motion, grinning wickedly. Sirius decides to murder him, sort of, so he launches himself forward and grabs James’s shoulder and shoves down, hard. James goes under, squawking, and resurfaces coughing.

 

‘I’m not sure I want you helping me,’ Remus says wryly.

 

‘I’m not going to do that to _you_ ,’ Sirius says. ‘You’re not King Twat.’

 

‘King!’ James says, still coughing. ‘And yet you treat me so poorly. Surely my title commands some respect.’

 

‘None whatsoever,’ Peter says.

 

Remus is now fussing an unnecessary amount with the buttons on his fly; Sirius is definitely going to get a hard-on if he doesn’t do something else. He dives under the water and considers yanking off James’s briefs but doesn’t want to give him any ideas. He surfaces and finds both Peter and James staring at Remus, who has gotten his trousers down around his ankles and is bent over, unlacing his shoes. His bite scar is in full view and the dappled sunlight does nothing to disguise it. Sirius realises that the other two have never seen it before, so he shoves them both, and they both look away, clearly embarrassed.

 

Remus straightens up, kicking off his shoes and trousers, and looks at the pool. ‘I’ll just jump in,’ he says.

 

‘Just walk in from the edge,’ Sirius suggests. ‘I’ll come to you.’ He swims over until he hits the muddy bottom and reaches up to Remus, who takes a deep breath and then steps gingerly down into the mud, grabbing for Sirius’s outstretched hands.

 

‘Oh, that’s cold,’ he gasps, and Sirius grins and tugs him further in to the pool.

 

‘The balls are the worst,’ James says sagely. ‘Then the nipples.’

 

‘Thanks,’ Remus says, and, clutching Sirius’s hand tightly, he ducks under the water. Sirius squeezes his hand and ducks under too.

 

Teaching Remus to swim is one of the most enjoyable things Sirius has ever done. James and Peter splash around and make suggestions. Remus touches him gratuitously everywhere, holding onto him tightly in the deep water at the centre of the pool, never letting go of his hand when they duck underwater, where the slide of their legs against each other feels natural and perfect. Soon all four of them are floating on their backs, looking up at the few clouds drifting across the sky, talking idly about nothing important at all. They do it for hours, sometimes swimming around, sometimes playing with the snitch, until they get hungry. James’s mum serves them a fantastic dinner – Sirius doesn’t remember what it was, but he knows it was delicious – and that night they conjure sleeping bags and sleep outside in the garden.

 

Their N.E.W.T.s results come the next day, and just like that, the moment is gone. 

***

They Apparate to the boundary of home and walk up the path and into the cottage in happy silence. It has been a long day.

 

Sirius flops back against the door, exhausted, opens his eyes to announce his exhaustion, and sees the way Remus is looking at him.

 

‘You look so fucking fit right now,’ Remus informs him.

 

Exhaustion forgotten, Sirius reaches for him.

 

Remus kisses him breathless, hands in his hair and all over his body. It’s been a few weeks since they could do anything but fall into bed at night and Sirius wants this so badly that it actually hurts, a hard ache in his cock and stomach. They stumble and trip their way into the bedroom, groping each other like teenagers. Sirius shoves Remus backwards onto the bed and crawls over him. They kiss frantically, yanking and tugging at each other’s clothing, desperate for each other, until Sirius manages to kick Remus’s pants off from around his ankles, and then they are naked on the bed, touching everywhere they can, and Sirius is biting Remus’s neck and suckling at the skin and he suddenly realises that Remus is laughing.

 

‘What?’ he asks, propping himself up on one elbow. ‘What’s so funny?’

 

Remus shakes his head and laughs harder, so Sirius strokes his hand down his body and gives his hard cock a tug. Remus moans and arches his back and then dissolves into giggles again.

 

‘What?’ Sirius asks, mystified.

 

‘I,’ Remus manages to stop laughing, but he’s grinning as he says, ‘you know, I think we should get married.’

 

Sirius’s heart skips a beat; then he raises his hand to Remus’s face and touches him with the back of it, so that the cool metal of his ring is pressed to his cheek. Remus stops laughing and takes Sirius’s hand in his. They look at each other for a long moment.

 

‘I think so too,’ Sirius says. ‘When, do you think?’

 

‘Soon,’ Remus says. ‘But not, you know.’ He nudges Sirius’s leg with his cock.

 

‘Until after this?’ Sirius kisses him before he can respond and then whispers, ‘I want you inside me,’ and Remus makes a little noise of desire, a noise Sirius knows infinitely well, and is going to continue to know, until death does them part.


	23. The Gathering Storm - Harry's Sixth Year Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ruinsplume for taking a look at a section of this for me. Any errors of continuity, canon, or prophecy interpretation are solely my own.

The bed is warm, and Remus is exhausted, so when Sirius wakes him and tells him he needs to go, there’s a mission, Remus barely registers it.

 

‘I’ll be back,’ Sirius says, and he kisses Remus, lightly. Remus reaches for his hand but he’s already gone.

 

Later, but not too much later based on how Remus feels and the light in the sky, he’s awoken by a persistent knocking. Disorientated and off-balance, he manages to get out of bed and find some trousers – surprise, they’re Sirius’s – and then tug on a jumper. The knocking continues. He limps to the door and is greeted by one of the more unpleasant things to see the morning after a full moon: Severus Snape.

 

‘Severus,’ he says to his old colleague, ‘this is a surprise.’ Severus arches an eyebrow. ‘How did you make it past our wards?’

 

‘They’re trivially easy to detect,’ Severus snorts.

 

Annoyed, and making a mental note to double them up, Remus asks in his most falsely-pleasant voice, ‘Did you drop by for my notes for the N.E.W.T class? I have some excellent lesson plans you’re welcome to borrow.’

 

‘We need to talk’ Severus says in that silky voice of his, ‘unless, of course, you’re busy?’

 

‘Please come in,’ Remus says, inwardly wondering what fresh hell this will be. He leads Severus into the kitchen and indicates a chair, then he goes to the kettle and leans heavily against the counter, feeling light headed. He makes tea deliberately, every step a challenge with his hands still tingling a bit like they’re paws and his limbs pretending to weigh several hundred stone. He places the kettle, two cups, and milk on the table and pulls out a seat, careful to not look like he’s collapsing into it in front of Severus, even though he’s certain Severus knows. Severus’s beady eyes watch his every move.

 

‘I can make you the Wolfsbane if you need it,’ he says, and somehow even that sounds mocking.

 

‘Sirius makes it for me,’ Remus says, ‘but it’s not a cure-all. I still have to physically go through the transformation.’

 

‘I hope he’s making it correctly,’ Severus snarks.

 

‘Is this a social call?’ Remus asks, trying not to grit his teeth, and offering Severus a cup.

 

‘I know you have a pathological need to be liked,’ Severus replies, waving it away, ‘but don’t you think it’s time you stopped trying with me?’

 

Remus considers pouring boiling tea on Severus’s lap, but it would require more physical effort than he’s up for. ‘Severus, we went to school together, worked together, and now we’re in the Order together. I don’t hold a grudge against you. Don’t you think it’s time you started acting more civil towards me?’

 

Severus rolls his eyes. ‘Black isn’t here, is he?’ he asks.

 

‘You know he isn’t,’ Remus says wearily, ‘or else he’d be in here telling you to fuck off.’ He puts a hand to his face and massages the hollows on either side of the bridge of his nose. He can feel a vicious headache twinging at the edges of his vision, threatening to join the cacophony of pain in the rest of his body. ‘Will you please have a cup of tea?’

 

Severus ignores this last. ‘I do not want you to share what I am about to tell you with Black.’

 

‘I don’t keep information from him,’ Remus says, ‘And you know it. We’ve been over this. Besides, you cannot _possibly_ believe he is a spy, can you? After all that he’s been through?’

 

Severus hesitates in a very un-Severus way, then says, ‘I don’t want him to tell Potter.’

 

Remus frowns and pours himself a cup of tea. ‘That’s more reasonable,’ he says. ‘I’ll tell him that.’ He looks up at Severus, who seems reluctant to say more. ‘So you came here to tell me something you don’t want Harry to find out…’ he prompts.

 

‘You need to prepare yourself,’ Severus says. ‘Albus is in more danger than you know.’

 

Remus’s stomach drops and he takes a deep breath. ‘Does Albus know that?’

 

‘Oh, I’ve told him,’ Severus says bitterly. ‘But he has no desire to listen to me.’

 

Remus taps his fingers on the side of his cup nervously. ‘What is… can we do something? What’s the cause of this danger?’

 

‘He’s searching for something,’ Severus says. ‘I’m not sure what it is, fully, though I have my suspicions.’

 

‘Powerful magical objects,’ Remus says quietly, and is grimly satisfied when Severus looks startled.

 

‘Yes,’ Severus says. ‘Do you have any idea why?’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘It’s been a theme, though. Bellatrix Lestrange asked Kreacher about them as well.’

 

Severus narrows his eyes. ‘Bellatrix is an idiot.’

 

‘I don’t know about that.’ Remus shrugs. He knows very little about Bellatrix except that Sirius loathes her more than anyone else still living from his family.

 

‘Trust me,’ Severus says, rolling his eyes. ‘She’s an utter fanatic. Azkaban unhinged whatever door she might have had holding back the insanity and it’s all out now.’

 

‘But she’s an incredibly powerful witch, at least in a fight,’ Remus says, remembering the skyscraper. ‘And she’s looking for the same thing Albus is.’

 

Severus grimaces. ‘I assume she’s looking on the Dark Lord’s orders.’

 

Remus feels suddenly that he’s treading on very thin ice. Cautiously, he asks, ‘Has he – has Voldemort’ and here Severus flinches, and Remus pities him, ‘given you any indication about why he might be looking for these things?’

 

Severus pauses, and Remus can tell he’s deliberating whether or not to answer. Then he says, ‘No. That’s not the sort of thing that he and I would discuss.’

 

Remus nods, relieved that they’ve breached the barrier on this conversational topic. ‘So tell me more about Albus,’ he says, a tactical retreat to give Severus a moment to decide if he’s willing to more fully discuss his relationship with Voldemort.

 

‘Like I said,’ Severus says, a trace of waspishness back, ‘he’s searching for something. One of the consequences of this quest was the destruction of his hand by a curse.’ He pauses, then adds, almost to himself, ‘It could have been much worse.’

 

Remus senses something he never has before from Severus: care for another human being. Severus cares about Albus, and is worried about him. Well. That’s something. ‘Can we do anything?’ he asks quietly. ‘Can one of us take on the search?’

 

Severus raises an eyebrow. ‘Not me,’ he says. ‘I have rather another role to play.’

 

‘Myself,’ Remus suggests. ‘Or Sirius.’

 

‘Albus won’t let Black do anything too overly dangerous,’ Severus says, and now he sounds bitter. ‘Not since the Ministry. Albus wants Potter to have a godfather.’

 

‘I could-‘

 

‘You could,’ Severus agrees quietly, ‘but you’re needed by the Order.’

 

‘Nowhere near as much as Albus is,’ Remus protests.

 

‘Trust me, Albus will not relinquish this quest.’

 

Frustrated, Remus says, ‘So you came here to tell me that Albus is in danger and there’s nothing we can do.’

 

‘And to prepare yourself for him to… for him to be gone.’ Severus looks so bleak at this statement that Remus really does feel sorry for him.

 

‘Severus,’ he says quietly, ‘I think Albus has meant the most to you and me.’ Severus gives him a blank look, clearly still thinking about his own pronouncement. ‘He let me attend Hogwarts and become a wizard,’ Remus explains, ‘and he forgave you whatever it was you did and let you teach for him.’

 

‘At a price,’ Severus says, voice unreadable. ‘He took our allegiance. He made me swear to do whatever he asked of me.’

 

‘I swore the same,’ Remus says, ‘though he didn’t have to make me do it.’

 

‘Yes, yes, I know, you’re the perfect martyr,’ Severus snaps.

 

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Remus snaps back, annoyed. ‘I was happy to do it. He gave me my life, essentially.’

 

‘Yes, but he shouldn’t have had to give it to you,’ Severus says, and then, completely unexpectedly: ‘You’re a competent wizard, whatever your medical condition. Don’t be so blindly grateful.’

 

‘Severus,’ Remus says wryly, ‘that is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’

 

‘Don’t get used to it,’ Severus says, clearly mortified.

 

Remus grins. ‘You’re worried about Albus, I’m worried about Albus, frankly I think we’re bonding.’

 

‘That is not-‘

 

‘And,’ Remus continues, more serious, ‘that’s important. I think. If we’re,’ he swallows, ‘if we have to plan for the future,’ he can’t say it, he can’t say anything at all about Albus, his throat suddenly thick, ‘then you and I need to trust each other.’ He raises his eyebrows at Severus. ‘I need to believe that you really are a spy for the right side.’

 

‘Don’t you?’ Severus asks.

 

‘I trust Albus,’ Remus says. ‘But if your allegiance is just to him…’

 

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Severus says quickly. ‘My allegiance is to the Order.’

 

‘I’m glad to hear you say that.’ Remus isn’t sure if he doubts it, but he kind of wants Severus to think that he does.

 

‘Remus…’

 

Remus offers him the tea cup. ‘Let’s talk, Severus,’ he says sweetly. ‘And please, drink my _goddamn_ tea.’

 

Severus glares, then sighs, then takes the cup of tea. ‘When is Black coming back?’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘No idea. He’s on Order business.’ He watches Severus take a sip and tries to stifle a grin. ‘Are you concerned about him seeing you here, acting polite?’

 

‘Oh, go to hell,’ Severus says wearily. He takes another sip of tea and stares into his cup.

 

‘This might be completely off-topic,’ Remus says, an idea occurring to him, ‘but Harry seems to think that Draco Malfoy is up to something. Do you know anything about that?’ Severus’s face starts into a sneer and Remus cuts him off, ‘And please keep in mind that nasty comments about Harry are not acceptable.’

 

‘Draco is in a difficult position,’ Severus says. Now he’s watching Remus closely. ‘The Dark Lord is holding his father responsible for the fiasco at the Ministry.’

 

‘I feel for Draco,’ Remus says. ‘I truly do. He was born into a family that was always going to make doing the right thing difficult.’

 

‘I’m surprised to hear you say that.’ Severus frowns. ‘I wouldn’t think you’d have any sympathy for him. As I recall, he was rather rude to you as a student.’

 

‘He was a teenage boy,’ Remus says, shrugging. ‘Still is, in fact, though he’s approaching an age where I’d expect him to start developing his own morals.’

 

‘The worst thing about you,’ Severus says, ‘is that I think you are truly, sincerely, this _nice_.’

 

Remus almost starts laughing. ‘Have you ever considered trying it?’ he suggests gently.

 

‘No,’ Severus says, but it’s not particularly cold. He leans forward and pours himself more tea. ‘I believe I have the Draco situation in hand, at least for now,’ he adds, unexpectedly. ‘I’ve spoken with his mother and dear Auntie Bellatrix about it as well. But if the Dark Lord decides that he wants to change something, I can’t predict what will happen to Draco. Particularly not if Bellatrix gets involved. She’s incredibly unpredictable.’

 

Remus shakes his head. ‘It’s terrible that children are being made to fight this war. On both sides.’

 

‘Remus,’ Severus says, voice tight, and Remus isn’t sure if he’s ever heard Severus say his first name before, ‘are you up to this task? Can you make difficult decisions?’ Remus starts to open his mouth, defensive, but Severus cuts him off. ‘Can you make difficult decisions about Harry?’

 

Remus thinks for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ he says honestly. ‘I didn’t choose this role. I barely accepted it. But I promise you that I will, I don’t quite know how to say it, but I will do it to the best of my ability.’

 

‘Of course you will,’ Severus says, clearly annoyed. ‘But you’re too compassionate.’

 

‘I told you I didn’t want to do it!’ Remus is hugely frustrated. He didn’t ask for any of this and he doesn’t know why Severus has to be such an unrelenting asshole. Whenever he thinks he’s made a breakthrough with him, it’s immediately back to criticism. ‘What happens to you, if something happens to Albus? What will you do?’

 

Severus shakes his head. ‘I think that the Dark Lord will ask me to stay on at Hogwarts,’ he says. ‘He wants someone there.’ He spreads his hands in front of him. ‘If Albus is… I think the Ministry will fall. Quickly. The Dark Lord is biding his time for now, gathering his allies to him. Without Albus, he’ll start moving forward with his plans.’

 

‘Which are what?’ Remus asks.

 

‘Installing puppets at the Ministry,’ Severus says. ‘Purging Muggleborns.’ He looks at Remus and raises his eyebrows. ‘I suspect, imprisoning Dark Creatures too. Whatever he may have told Greyback to win his allegiance.’

 

Remus rolls his eyes. ‘Greyback’s a fool if he thinks Voldemort isn’t using him.’ He sees Severus flinch again and says, as sincerely as he can, ‘Sorry.’

 

‘It’s-’ Severus shakes his head. ‘You need to be more careful. They’ll put a trace on the name sooner or later.’ He frowns. ‘Have you always said his name?’

 

‘Yes,’ Remus says. ‘I never understood the fear of it.’

 

‘If you knew him,’ Severus says quietly, ‘you would.’

 

Remus waits a moment, then realises he is genuinely concerned. ‘What happens to you, in that case?’ he asks. ‘What’s your end game?’

 

Severus hesitates. ‘I’m not like you,’ he says finally. ‘You could flee. Go live somewhere abroad. If the Dark Lord knew that I had betrayed him… there would be nowhere I could hide. I would never be safe.’

 

‘I take your point,’ Remus says, trying to sound as respectful as possible, ‘but I couldn’t flee, because Harry can’t.’

 

Severus’s face is unreadable. ‘I should have known.’ And then, again unexpectedly, perhaps the first time he’s ever said ‘we’, at least in Remus’s earshot, ‘We have to see this to the end.’

 

Remus nods. ‘The end of Voldemort. Sorry.’

 

‘I can’t imagine it,’ Severus says quietly. ‘But yes, that is what I mean.’ He meets Remus’s eyes. ‘I won’t be able to have contact with you, I don’t think. I will have to appear to be fully his, if – without Albus.’

 

Remus nods, jaw tight.

 

‘But believe me,’ Severus says, and in this moment, Remus does, ‘I will be with you.’

 

***

The Order has been using a variety of magical objects to signal for one another and send messages, but they are neither fool proof nor particularly secure. In early spring, Albus requests that everyone begin using only their Patronuses for urgent communications.

 

Problematically, the Patronus charm is a complex one not often performed in the course of daily life and it becomes quickly apparent based on some very garbled, wispy messages that many of the non-Aurors among them need revision.

 

Kingsley says to Remus, ‘We should organise something. I know you taught Harry, and I used to teach Ministry officials who were going to visit Azkaban.’ Remus agrees, and they organise a time, an evening in the usual church hall.  

 

That day, Remus pulls out a selection of textbooks and carefully prepares some ideas – he’s not going to call them lesson plans – for revision. The Patronus charm is a difficult one and he hasn’t taught it to anyone since Harry, who had been a quick learner.

 

As he’s packing his books, he realises that Sirius has been avoiding him. He finds his fiancé in the kitchen, responding to correspondence a little too nonchalantly.

 

‘Ready to go soon?’ Remus asks, already anticipating the answer.

 

‘I’m not going to join you,’ Sirius says, not looking up from his letter.

 

‘Sirius-‘

 

Sirius frowns. ‘I haven’t been able to conjure a Patronus since before Azkaban,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve done it since Regulus died. And I think the Dementors permanently destroyed my ability to do it.’

 

‘Have you tried?’

 

Sirius shrugs. ‘No, but before you start telling me that I should, I’ll warn you that I also can’t focus on any kind of good memory without feeling residual dread that a Dementor will be coming for me.’

 

Remus is appalled. ‘Sirius, love…’

 

Sirius looks up at him, lips pursed in a way that Remus knows means he’s tamping down emotion, and says, ‘So I think I’ll have to get by without, rather.’

 

Remus takes his hand and tugs him to his feet, wrapping his arms around him from the side when Sirius resists. ‘I think we can do this,’ he says quietly, nose pressed into Sirius’s hair just above his ear. ‘Together.’

 

He can feel Sirius’s rigid stance soften a little. ‘We’ll see.’

 

‘Promise me you’ll try?’

 

‘Not with everyone watching,’ Sirius mutters.

 

‘No,’ Remus agrees. ‘Later. When I get home.’

 

‘I don’t know.’

 

‘Sirius, I worry about you.’

 

Sirius leans back and raises an eyebrow. ‘When has me saying that ever stopped you from doing something?’

 

‘You don’t know,’ Remus says, trying to tug him back. ‘It might have.’

 

Sirius lets himself get pulled back in; Remus presses the advantage and nuzzles into his neck. ‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ Sirius says, voice husky.

 

‘Well-spotted,’ Remus murmurs. ‘After all these years, you’ve finally come to recognise my seduction techniques.’

 

‘Don’t you have a class to teach?’ Sirius asks, but his hand on Remus’s waist squeezes him, and then migrates down to slide into the back pocket of his trousers and give his ass a none-too-gentle grope.

 

‘I’d rather do this.’

 

‘But you’re going to do that.’

 

‘How do you know?’

 

‘After all these years,’ Sirius says, and he finally turns fully to press his body against Remus, pushing their cocks together through their clothes, ‘I know that you always do the right thing.’

 

Remus puts both hands on either side of his face and kisses him, slowly, longingly, until Sirius’s body isn’t resisting at all, but seems to be melting into his. ‘I love you,’ Remus murmurs against his mouth. ‘We’re going to solve this.’

 

Sirius opens his eyes; he looks wary. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you,’ he says, ‘but I’m not sure we are.’

 

‘What if you have to confront Dementors again?’

 

‘I assume they’ll take my soul on sight,’ Sirius says. ‘They’re not happy that I escaped from them twice.’

 

‘You have to know the charm then.’ Remus gives him a searching look. ‘Please.’

 

‘I will try,’ Sirius relents. ‘When you get home, I’ll try.’

 

***

 

Remus arrives early, before anyone else. He is perched on the edge of a table, flipping through his books, when Tonks arrives.

 

‘Hi,’ she says. She hasn’t spoken directly to Remus in months.

 

‘Hi, Tonks,’ he replies, genuinely delighted to see her. ‘How are you?’

 

‘I’m good,’ she says. ‘I, um, I’ve missed you. Being your friend.’

 

‘Me too,’ Remus says. ‘I’ve really missed that.’ He smiles at her. ‘I’m sorry about how things happened.’

 

‘Not your fault,’ she says, shaking her head.

 

‘Think we can be friends again?’

 

‘I’d love that,’ she smiles at him, dazzlingly. He wonders if there’s an alternate universe where they’re together. He doesn’t want to live there, but he’d be interested to see it for a day. ‘But listen, something kind of, I dunno, embarrassing I need to tell you first…’

 

Remus waves a hand. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine,’ he says. ‘What is it?’

 

‘My patronus,’ Tonks says, ‘is, uh, it’s a wolf.’

 

Remus opens his mouth, startled, and then laughs. ‘Well, mine is as well.’

 

‘Really?’ She grins. ‘I would have thought it was a dog.’

 

‘Me too,’ Remus agrees. ‘But sometimes these things are at a deeper level than I think we understand consciously. Mine has always been a wolf.’ He smiles at her. ‘It’s a good protector. Loyal. Lots of big teeth.’

 

‘Thanks.’ She looks at his books on the table beside him. ‘Ooh, you’re going to play professor for us?’

 

‘If people need help,’ Remus says, embarrassed.

 

‘You’ll be great,’ she says. ‘I heard you taught Harry, after all. And you’ll be better than Mad-Eye, who kept yelling at me so much that I could barely think a happy thought that wasn’t him shutting up.’

 

People do indeed need help, and Remus is delighted to help them. He often tries to forget how much he loves teaching, since he doesn’t get to do it as often as he has always wanted to, but he truly adores it.

 

He comes home in high spirits and finds Sirius sitting grimly alone in the lounge.

 

Sirius is staring into the fire. ‘I don’t think I can do it, Moony.’

 

Remus pulls the other armchair close and sits in it opposite Sirius. The fire feels wonderful after the desultory snow outside. He shivers and puts his hands out over the grate, warming them.

 

‘Why not?’

 

Sirius has open on his lap one of Remus’s textbooks that he’d left behind, thinking the others were more informative. He moves his finger down the page to the section about the Patronus charm and reads, ‘“The wizard must first grasp in his mind the happiest idea he can think of”.’ He looks up at Remus. ‘I can’t do that. If I start, I get,’ he trails off.

 

‘Get what?’ Remus prompts.

 

‘Panicked,’ Sirius says flatly. ‘I start feeling like I can’t breathe. I think about what it feels like when a Dementor comes for a good memory.’ He looks up at Remus, his pale eyes eerie in the flickering firelight. ‘You know that when I was in Azkaban, I had to forget about you. One thought of you, and they would come for me. I could think about the grim facts of the others, but you… they always knew. They always came. I had to train myself to wilfully forget you.’

 

Remus blinks back tears, not sure if he’s deeply sad or incandescently angry. ‘It’s inhumane,’ he whispers. ‘A prison should be about reform, not throwing away the key.’

 

Sirius shrugs. ‘It is what it is,’ he says. ‘I wish it upon Peter.’

 

‘I don’t know if I do.’

 

Sirius half smiles. ‘I knew you would say that.’

 

‘I can’t wish it on anyone, I don’t think. And I’m fucking furious that someone did it to you.’

 

‘The point is, I can’t think of a happy memory – like really think of one – without also thinking of that.’

 

Remus takes Sirius’s hands and holds them tightly in front of the fire. ‘What’s your happiest memory? Not reliving it, just… describe it.’

 

Sirius looks off to the side. ‘The day I taught you to swim.’

 

Remus squeezes his hands, startled. ‘Really?’

 

‘Absolutely.’ Sirius squeezes back. ‘Everyone was happy. Peter can’t have betrayed us yet. James was there. We were outside on a gorgeous summer day with our best friends and you were my new boyfriend and we were lying on our backs in cool water in the hot sun. How could anything be better?’

 

‘When you put it that way…’

 

‘What’s your happiest memory? What do you think about?’

 

‘I can conjure a Patronus very easily,’ Remus says, ‘because I’ve had a lot of practice. All I have to do is think of you, nothing specific, just you, and it comes to me.’ Sirius squeezes his hands again and Remus continues. ‘If I need a prompt for whatever reason, I’ll think about the day Harry was born, and how happy we all were that day.’

 

‘That’s a good one,’ Sirius says quietly.

 

‘Want to try it?’

 

Sirius gives him a pleading look. ‘Not really,’ he whispers. ‘It’s absurd, I know, I know there’s no Dementors here, I know I’m safe, I mean, hell, you’re right here with me, but they were there for over a decade, Remus…’ He’s suddenly trying to blink back tears. ‘I feel like a coward but the second I think they might come, I’m paralysed.’

 

‘It’s ok,’ Remus says. ‘Really.’ It’s not ok, not because Sirius isn’t feeling something valid, but because he needs this skill to survive the war. Remus has just realised that he’s going to have to trick Sirius into it, somehow. Luckily, he’s got a plan. ‘I’m exhausted. Can we go to bed?’

 

Sirius nods. They get ready for bed in companionable silence, standing side by side at the sink and brushing their teeth. In bed, Sirius reaches for Remus and puts an arm around his stomach, clearly ready to fall asleep. Remus lets it pass for a moment, then scoots forward and kisses Sirius under his ear.

 

'For the second time today, I don't know how stupid you think I am, but I know what you're trying to do,' Sirius murmurs. Remus stops and leans back a little; Sirius's mouth is set but twitching.

 

Remus starts giggling. 'Not working?'

 

'I thought you were so exhausted,' Sirius says, rolling his eyes. 'Instead it was just a ploy for some misguided pedagogy...'

 

Remus briefly tries to smother him with a pillow, winding up after not much of a struggle straddling him with Sirius's hands on his hips. 'It might work,' he suggests. 'Don't you want to find out?'

 

'No,' Sirius says. He playfully shoves Remus to the side and after some brief grappling, he winds up straddling him. 'Listen,' he says, and Remus squirms as if trying to dislodge him so he reaches up and seizes Remus's wrists, holding them together in one hand against the wall above his head. 'Listen.'

 

Remus arches his back, pressing against Sirius’s groin. 'Yes?'

 

'Really. Listen.'

 

Remus composes his face into a semblance of solemnity.

 

'I love you,' Sirius says, very sincerely, 'more than anything, really, truly. And it is breaking my heart that I can't use you to summon up a Patronus. But I can't.'

 

'Padfoot,' Remus says, startled, a sharp ache in the back of his throat. 'Don't - it's all right. I know you love me. You don't have to prove it to me.'

 

'I want to, though,' Sirius says, giving him a searching look. 'You're what I want to think about. And I loathe it - really, on a visceral level, it makes me feel ill - that I can't.'

 

'But I understand,' Remus says. 'And let's talk about it. But first, oof, let go my wrists, my hands are tingling.'

 

Sirius squeezes them instead. 'Promise me you'll seduce me later.'

 

'Maybe,' Remus says, fluttering his eyes. 'If my hands are still functional.'

 

'You complain a lot,' Sirius says, very fondly, and he lets go and kisses each of Remus's wrists before sliding over to lie beside him.

 

'I think you have a point,' Remus says, twisting so he's facing him in the bed.

 

'I know, you complain all the time...' Remus narrows his eyes at him and Sirius grins. 'Yes, my dearest? A point about what?'

 

'You've known me a long time,' Remus says. 'Nearly three-quarters of your life.'

 

'Steady on, we're not that old.'

 

'Close.'

 

'Let's say two-thirds.'

 

'But it's more than that.'

 

'What was your point, exactly?'

 

'In that time,' Remus says, tracing Sirius's cheekbone with his finger, 'there's been a lot of, well, of miles covered. Good and bad.'

 

'Mostly good.'

 

'I mean...'

 

'What?'

 

'There was some bad.'

 

Sirius rolls his eyes.

 

'You promised not to lie to me,' Remus points out.

 

'There might have been some very limited bad. Completely outweighed by good.'

 

'Sirius.'

 

'What?'

 

'There have been times in our relationship that have been bad.'

 

'But not because the relationship itself is flawed.'

 

'No, because sometimes we are both stupid and flawed ourselves. I mean, it's just statistics that even in a relationship that is ninety-nine percent good, on a long enough timeline, we'll-'

 

'Like right now, when you're being insufferable.'

 

Remus purses his lips. 'Fine, smart arse.'

 

'Your point being that I'm struggling to have a perfectly good memory of you because I've known you too long?'

 

'I think so,' Remus says thoughtfully. 'I mean, you told me your happiest memory: the day you taught me to swim. And it was a gorgeous day. I can see why you chose it. But as you were telling me about it, you prefaced it by telling me your feelings about Peter, and about James, and about me, and how they relate to your memory of that day.'

 

Sirius chews his lip. 'Mmhmm...'

 

'I think you need something less complicated. And as much as I wanted to think that a bit of fucking might fit the bill – I think fucking me is probably still too complicated.’

 

‘Yeah,’ Sirius admits. ‘Probably.’

 

They both sit in silence for a moment, contemplating that.

 

‘You sure you want to marry someone who you’ll never be able to uncomplicatedly fuck?’ Remus asks, a fraction unsure.

 

‘Yes, prat,’ Sirius says rolling his eyes. ‘Of course I’m bloody sure I want to marry you. I’m just not sure I have _any_ memories that are uncomplicated. I was trying to think of one and every option comes up difficult. I thought of watching Harry fly on the Quidditch pitch, well, he reminds me of James. Everything before Azkaban is, well, before Azkaban, and everything after reminds me of everything that happened before.’ He makes a sad face at Remus. ‘I’m just the most miserable man on the planet, by this measure. But I promise you, I’m not really.’

 

‘We’ll think of something,’ Remus assures him. ‘You’ve cast a Patronus before. I know you’ll be able to get it.’ It’s one of those lies he’s telling himself so he doesn’t have to lie to Sirius.

 

***

Tonks relays a message from her mother, inviting Sirius and Remus around for tea. Sirius hasn’t seen Andromeda in nearly two decades, but is pleasantly surprised. She had never been as obviously rebellious as he was, instead choosing to quietly slip away to marry the Muggle-born Ted Tonks and leave her sisters and his mother and every other member of the family but him to feel outrage. He’d seen it as a beacon of hope: someone made it out of the Black family alive. After he’d run away, they’d exchanged letters – she and Ted and their little daughter had lived in Paris at the time, and she’d invited him there if he needed a place to stay for a bit – but their letters dropped off as the war intensified and they haven’t spoken since he went to Azkaban.

 

Then the night of their meeting, Remus has to do something for the Order, so he can’t come, and Sirius goes alone to their house, clutching a bottle of wine and suddenly quite anxious. He’s coming up with every excuse he can to duck out when Andromeda opens the door and cries, ‘My fellow Black sheep!’

 

‘Meda,’ he says, and she holds out her arms and wraps him in a tight hug.

 

‘What’s this? Wine?’ she asks. ‘How did you guess my favourite thing?’

 

‘Just a hunch,’ Sirius says, grinning as he starts to remember her personality – fearless and just extravagant enough to name her daughter Nymphadora.

 

Inside, she catches him up on what little family gossip she has – her exit from the family had been less terrible than his, and she’d kept up occasional correspondence – and then asks after Remus.

 

‘Nymphadora told me all about him, of course,’ she says. ‘I heard all about him for months and months and kept telling her to just talk to him. Then one day she stopped talking about him and I found out that he’s taken.’

 

‘I really do feel bad for Tonks about that,’ Sirius says, wincing.

 

‘Oh,’ Andromeda shakes her head. ‘Don’t. I told her he was too old for her anyway, and to look for a nice boy closer to her own age.’

 

Sirius grins. ‘How did she take that?’

 

‘Just as well as you’d expect. She loves to complain at me and then doesn’t listen to a word I say when I give her perfectly good advice. Seems to hold a grudge against me for giving her such a beautiful name.’

 

The front door opens and a tall man enters, stooped over in the doorway and shaking out an umbrella. ‘Darling,’ Andromeda calls, ‘this is my cousin, Sirius.’

 

‘The good one,’ Ted replies, and he steps forward and shakes Sirius’s hand with a slightly damp palm. ‘Wonderful to meet you,’ he says with such obvious enthusiasm that Sirius believes him.

 

‘Wonderful to meet you too,’ he replies. ‘You have a great daughter.’

 

‘Thank you!’ Ted exclaims. ‘Anyone who knows that is perfect in our book.’

 

They eat dinner together – Andromeda orders takeaway from a local curry house with a wave of her hand and an, ‘I don’t cook!’

 

(‘She never does,’ Ted says, shaking his head and grinning.)

 

\- and then she pours them all big glasses of wine –

 

(‘She does do _that_ , though,’ Ted says, and Andromeda hits him with a tea towel.)

 

\- and they get pleasantly tipsy together. Andromeda and Sirius wind up regaling Ted with their most outrageous stories about wealthy wizards doing stupid things in the Black family, culminating in the story of an aunt who wanted to buy one of the pyramids and tried to set fire to the Egyptian Ministry using a cursed statue of Anubis when told she could not.

 

After the third bottle of wine opens, Ted says he’s off to bed, and the conversation turns more pensive.

 

‘I feel so terrible that my generation didn’t solve these problems,’ Andromeda confesses to Sirius. ‘Tonks is young, she shouldn’t have to be fighting against this entrenched evil.’ She looks up from her wine glass at him. ‘You were young, weren’t you? When you first joined the Order?’

 

‘Eighteen,’ Sirius confirms. ‘And I wish we’d been able to solve it too, Meda.’

 

‘Remember how they all used to go on, at dinners?’ she asks. ‘I mean, I know I left the family when you were, what, eleven years old? But I’m sure they were still the same. Everyone talking about how they’d love to still be hunting Muggles, how they deserve to be in charge simply because they were born into the family…’

 

‘That’s exactly how they were,’ Sirius says. He remembers the long table in the house where Andromeda grew up, and dinners sat around it, listening to one faction advocate for the enslavement of the Muggle born while the other couched it in paternalistic phrases, ‘Doing what’s best for Muggles’, ‘They just don’t know what’s best for them.’

 

‘I was always surprised about Regulus,’ she says. ‘I didn’t think he’d wind up a Death Eater.’

 

Sirius remembers his brother sitting beside him at many of those conversations, silently picking at his food, never speaking up but never speaking out either. ‘He didn’t want to be,’ he says. ‘He tried to quit, actually.’

 

‘Did he?’ Andromeda asks, startled. ‘I imagine that’s why he’s not with us today?’

 

Sirius nods, chewing on his lip. He hopes he’s remembering all that there is to that. ‘They murdered him rather than let him.’

 

‘Poor Reg,’ she says, and raises her glass in a toast. ‘Poor all of us who find ourselves in over our heads here.’

 

‘Indeed,’ Sirius agrees, clinking their glasses together and taking a long drink.

 

‘Do you think we should flee, Sirius?’

 

He looks at her, startled. ‘Flee?’

 

‘Ted and I have plenty of friends in Paris,’ she says, an almost pleading tone in her voice. ‘Nymphadora says we’re being ridiculous but…’ She bites her lip. ‘The Ministry didn’t fall last time,’ she says. ‘But this time, they’re putting their own people into it. They’re taking it over from within. And they’ve already started enacting laws that are making life difficult… I’m so worried that they’ll introduce an anti-Muggleborn law, or even one that is anti-Halfblood…’

 

Sirius shakes his head. ‘They certainly could,’ he admits. ‘But it seems like we need to stay and fight.’

 

Andromeda smiles at him, but there’s sadness in her look. ‘I was never as brave as you, Sirius. I didn’t argue at dinner and I didn’t leave until I had Ted.’

 

‘I don’t think it’s bravery,’ Sirius says. ‘I’m not – I don’t choose to be like this. But it’s – it’s all I can be. I couldn’t be quiet and I couldn’t stay there and I can’t leave now.’

 

‘Nymphadora is like you,’ Andromeda says, and suddenly she looks incredibly sad.

 

***

There is a terror attack in central London, on Trafalgar Square, and dozens of Muggles die. The Ministry manages to cover it up to look like Muggle religious extremists but the Wizarding world is ablaze with the news that it is Death Eaters. The mystery of what Bellatrix and her merry band were committing in the London skyscraper is revealed – they were planting spells to mask their magic so that the Ministry couldn’t know in advance.

 

One Muggle man tries to stop a Death Eater during the attack and is gruesomely murdered for his trouble. His husband delivers a gorgeous, life-affirming eulogy that holds the Muggle news cycle for roughly six hours. Sirius is haunted by it. He enchants an empty picture frame to play it against the black velvet background within its borders and takes it out and watches it much more than is healthy. He imagines, vividly, what he would say at Remus’s funeral. He starts to keep a list of things he’ll want to say, if. If if if.

 

Remus catches him with it and isn’t pleased. ‘This is a ridiculous fixation,’ he tells Sirius, who shrugs.

 

‘It helps me,’ he says simply and Remus shakes his head and walks away from the conversation, returning later and apologizing. He holds Sirius tightly that night in bed.

 

‘What are we going to do?’ he murmurs against Sirius’s shoulder in the dark.

 

‘We’re going to keep fighting,’ Sirius says, stroking Remus’s hair, feeling the coarse difference between the grey and the light brown – more of the former now. He kisses the top of his head and remembers the golden boy Remus had been, who he’d found heartbreakingly handsome when they were teenagers. He prefers this one: the lived-in Remus who holds him like he’s the only thing stationary on the surface of a swiftly tilting planet.

 

‘If you die,’ Sirius says, ‘you know what I’ll say at your funeral?’

 

‘For the love of god, Padfoot, stop being morbid.’

 

‘I’ll say, “he had the biggest cock”.’

 

Remus bursts into startled laughter against his neck, which spurs Sirius on. ‘I’ll say, “you couldn’t believe his cock, it was incredible.” I’ll gesture a bit, try to make them understand the size.’

 

‘You are the worst person I have ever met. And I have met a _lot_ of Death Eaters.’

 

‘You chose me,’ Sirius reminds him, wagging a finger in his face. Remus bites the finger and shakes it, playfully. ‘And then I’ll say-‘

 

‘Do shut up.’

 

‘I’ll say, “Listen, in his honour, we’re going to need to rename Big Ben to Big-“’

 

Remus cuts him off by kissing him, and when he tries to keep talking, Remus grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him down towards the aforementioned cock, which is a bit of a change of subject, but that’s kind of their thing, so he goes for it, rolling Remus’s pyjamas down at the waist to expose the object of his desire and then swallowing it whole, so that Remus gasps in a way that is deeply satisfying – he loves that he can still elicit shocked desire from Remus, it makes him feel drunk with desire – and Remus grabs his hair and yanks, really truly pulls, and it turns him on even more, so he puts a hand onto Remus’s hip and holds him down, exerting his own control over the situation – as if he wasn’t completely in control, with Remus’s cock in his mouth and Remus completely undone before him, unbelievably hard as Sirius does exactly what he knows how to do to get Remus off.

 

He’s had years of practice and he is very, very good at it, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to do the best damn job he can.

 

After, Remus is boneless, sweaty, flopped backwards against the pillows, and Sirius crosses his arms over Remus’s hipbones and leans his chin on them, looking up at the mess that was until recently his fiancé.

 

When a minute has passed, Remus slurs, ‘You know what I’ll tell them if you die?’

 

‘Now who’s morbid?’

 

‘I’ll tell them that you were the best at sucking cock.’

 

‘Oh stop,’ Sirius says, feigning embarrassment.

 

‘I’ll really go into detail. I’ll talk about your tongue and how fucking filthy it was.’

 

‘People will say you’re forcing the homosexual agenda on them.’

 

‘I’ll say, guess what, this is the homosexual agenda, deal with it.’

 

‘You’ll interrupt your speech to say that?’

 

‘I’ll say, intolerance and bigotry are the reasons why we’re here today. I’ll say, just accept that no one will ever suck your cock as well as he could. And be happy for me that I got to experience it.’

 

Sirius moves up the bed and snuggles up against him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close so that they’re spooning. Remus fits neatly against him, and his own half-hard cock fits neatly against the curve of Remus’s ass. He’s tired, and it’s not urgent, but it feels good.

 

‘I’ll tell them,’ he says quietly in Remus’s ear, feeling from Remus’s body that he’s relaxing into sleep, ‘that you were the best thing, just the best thing in the entire world.’

 

‘Padfoot,’ Remus says, softly.

 

‘And then I’ll say, “sorry, I misspoke. I meant to say, his ass was the best thing, just the best thing”-‘

 

Remus bites his hand again, laughing. ‘Go to sleep,’ he says, and then he is asleep himself in the sudden way that only Remus can be. Sirius lies awake holding him as tightly as he can, never wanting to forget what this feels like, terrified that someday he will.

 

***

Remus is at his wits’ end with worry, which is why he was mad at Sirius over his absurd sentimentality. It is nearly a year since Voldemort exposed himself and they seem no closer – and indeed significantly further – from effecting real change.

 

Remus does the last thing he wants to do: he goes to Albus to ask for help.

 

‘Please,’ he says, standing in Dumbledore’s ornately beautiful office, ‘what is the plan? Where is this going?’ Albus doesn’t respond immediately, and Remus, increasingly frustrated, can’t seem to stop himself. ‘The Order’s been in a holding pattern since the fight at the Ministry. We’re keeping our heads above water but just barely. People are dying, Death Eaters are killing Muggles left and right, and Voldemort is trying to consolidate his power at the Ministry for a coup.’

 

‘You’ve been speaking with Severus,’ Albus says quietly, and Remus sees him flex his cursed hand.

 

‘I have,’ Remus agrees, ‘but I’ve been thinking a lot of this on my own as well.’ He sinks down into one of the chairs in front of Albus’s desk. It immediately becomes plush, acknowledging that he’s not a naughty schoolboy anymore, and he fleetingly wishes it was hard, and he was still fifteen, and everything after a bad dream. But, no such luck. He leans forward. ‘Albus. The Order needs a light at the end of this tunnel. Do you have a plan to defeat him? Can we make one?’

 

Albus sighs heavily. ‘What I need from the Order,’ he says, still in that quiet voice, ‘is for you to buy me time.’

 

‘Time,’ Remus repeats, despairing. ‘How much? Time for what?’

 

‘I am searching for some things that Voldemort has hidden,’ Albus says. ‘I must find them before we can have any chance of defeating him.’ He looks Remus in the eyes, his gaze piercing despite his obvious weariness. ‘I need you to give me more time.’

 

‘Powerful magical objects?’ Remus whispers.

 

‘More than that.’

 

‘Tell me what it is,’ Remus says, leaning forward. ‘Let me help.’

 

Albus shakes his head. ‘This is my quest,’ he says.

 

‘What if something happens to you?’

 

‘Now I know you’ve been talking to Severus,’ Albus says, clearly trying to inject levity into the conversation. Remus makes an exasperated noise and Albus continues, ‘I promise you, Remus, if something happens to me, you will find out everything you need to know at that time.’

 

‘Why all this secrecy?’ Remus demands. ‘Don’t you remember what secrecy did to the Order before?’

 

‘Would things have been better if Pettigrew had been allowed to know everything?’

 

Remus shakes his head, frustrated. ‘I don’t know.’

 

‘Think upon it,’ Albus says, a little less kindly than Remus appreciates. ‘If I’m gone, you will have to make these decisions.’

 

‘I’m aware of that,’ Remus says, angry that Albus would imply he could forget, but tamping it down, like he almost always does with that particular emotion. ‘So why not at least tell me what you’re looking for?’

 

‘Because you don’t need to know,’ Albus says simply. ‘The fewer people know this, the better we will be.’

 

Remus breathes heavily through his nostrils and shakes his head. ‘Albus, honestly, I-‘

 

‘Harry will explain everything,’ Albus says.

 

‘Harry?’ Remus repeats, horrified. ‘You’ve involved him in this?’

 

‘Harry has a right to know,’ Albus says. ‘He’s the one who has to ultimately defeat Voldemort.’

 

Remus blinks at Albus. ‘ _What_?’

 

Albus, for once, looks startled. ‘Didn’t James tell you?’

 

‘James?’ Remus repeats. ‘What would James have…’

 

‘I told James and Lily,’ Albus says. ‘I thought he would have told you, as part of the Secret Keeper discussion. I offered to be his Secret Keeper and he insisted that it be one of you, so I’d assumed…’

 

Remus sinks back against his chair. ‘Maybe he told Sirius,’ he says quietly. ‘But Sirius doesn’t… he has memory issues. Because of the Dementors. Especially about things that happened right around that time.’ Remus refuses to think that Sirius hasn’t told him this deliberately. Not told him at the time, fifteen years ago, that he can certainly believe – by the time that they’d had to hide James and Lily their trust in each other had been in tatters – but now? He must have lost this memory. ‘Why does it have to be Harry?’

 

‘That’s the prophecy,’ Albus says, and he sounds deeply regretful. ‘The prophecy specified that it could be one of two children, and Voldemort chose Harry.’

 

Remus blinks. ‘He chose Harry?’

 

‘The conditions of the prophecy suggested it could also be Neville Longbottom. His parents, like James and Lily, had defied Voldemort three times and lived to tell the tale. But Voldemort chose Harry, I believe because he’s a Halfblood, like Voldemort.’

 

Remus feels continually a step behind the conversation. ‘Voldemort’s a Halfblood?’

 

‘Oh yes. His father was a Muggle by the name of Tom Riddle.’

 

Remus leans forward and puts his head in his hands. He’ll have to think more about that tidbit of information later. Now, there’s only one thing he can focus on: ‘And so Voldemort chose Harry…’

 

‘And Harry has now escaped from him four times himself,’ Albus says quietly. ‘No one else has done that.’

 

‘But you knew about the prophecy before Voldemort chose Harry.’

 

‘I sent Alice and Frank into hiding as well. I believed it would be Harry, but as a precaution.’

 

‘But Albus.’ Remus realises something terrible. ‘Albus, if you sent James and Lily into hiding because you knew their child had to kill Voldemort…’

 

Albus raises his eyebrows, as if daring Remus to say it.

 

‘How old did you think he’d be when he could kill him?’ Remus asks. ‘How long did you plan for them to be in hiding?’ He starts to feel furious. ‘How long was the Order going to have to hold off Voldemort?’

 

‘Honestly?’ Albus asks. ‘I didn’t know. I had hoped that just contact, just an attempt on Harry’s life might do it at the time – but now I’ve come to realise that he must actually take an active role.’

 

‘So you know that Harry must-‘ Remus shuts his eyes. ‘You know that Harry must _murder_ Voldemort.’

 

‘Yes.’

 

Remus opens them and looks at Albus, clearly, for what feels like the first time. ‘Albus.’

 

‘I didn’t choose this prophecy,’ Albus says, almost like an apology, but not quite. ‘Nor do I wish it on him. You know how much I care for Harry.’

 

Remus stands. ‘I have to tell Sirius,’ he says, mind already elsewhere, trying to decide how to frame that conversation.

 

‘Yes,’ Albus agrees. ‘Remus,’ he calls as Remus puts his hand on the door. He looks back and sees Albus, alone at his desk. ‘Truly, I’m sorry you didn’t know.’

 

That’s the last time they ever speak.

 

***

 

Remus Apparates to the protective ring around the cottage so hard that he stumbles when he hits the ground and has to put out his hands to stop himself from falling. He steps through the barrier and runs into the cottage, but it is deserted. He searches through the rooms anyway, and then sends his Patronus to Sirius.

 

The urgent message has its desired effect, and Remus hears Sirius running up the walk a moment later. He opens the door and Sirius skids to a halt at the garden gate, panic all over his face.

 

‘Moony, what?’ he asks.

 

Remus instantly feels terrible that he scared him and says, ‘Everyone’s all right. I’ve just had a disturbing conversation with Albus and I need to talk to you about it.’

 

Inside, he relays to Sirius what Albus had said about the prophecy while Sirius’s face turns more and more white.

 

‘Did you know?’ Remus asks.

 

Sirius blinks as if pulling himself from a trance. ‘I think I did,’ he says. ‘That weekend… do you remember it? At the Potters’ old house, in Devon…’

 

‘I remember.’

 

‘How could I have forgotten?’ Sirius whispers. ‘At the time, it was all I could think of…’

 

‘Tell me what happened,’ Remus commands him, not entirely certain why he needs Sirius to relive what was doubtless an incredibly traumatic conversation. Something about being as close to hearing James and Lily’s own words…

 

‘James summoned me,’ Sirius says, staring down at his hands and breathing in erratic, short bursts. ‘Yes, that’s what happened, I am almost certain. He must have done… I was at home, you were out. I left you a note?’ He looks up at Remus, who nods, tersely. ‘I went to their flat. Dumbledore had just been there. I remember that,’ Sirius frowns. ‘God, what do I actually remember? I’m trying.’

 

Remus reaches out and takes Sirius’s hands tightly, trying to will him to remember. ‘You left me a note,’ he prompts, because he remembers every event leading up to that Halloween night like it happened this morning. ‘You said you had to talk to James and you’d see me later.’

 

Sirius nods. ‘I went to their flat and Harry was sleeping,’ he says. ‘Lily answered the door and asked me to be quiet, not to wake him up.’ Remus can picture, vividly, the entryway to their flat in London, can even smell that hallway, the touch of damp, and he can picture Lily. She’s forever young in his mind, and he misses her sharply.

 

‘James,’ Sirius says, like the name is hard for him to speak, ‘he said to me that he wanted us to go to his parents’. He said he had to tell me something that it was going to be very hard for me to hear. We went, together, and we put up wards outside so no one could Apparate into the house. It was hard, opening it up, without his parents… with them being gone.’

 

Remus remembers the terrible day that James became an orphan, and James himself, saying, ‘At least they got to meet Harry,’ bleakly, clearly holding on to the only comfort he had.

 

‘And then we sat in the dining room,’ Sirius says, shaking his head and staring fixedly at the table, clearly seeing something far away in both space and time, ‘and we opened a bottle of very old wine we’d found, and James told me about the prophecy.’

 

‘How did he describe it?’ Remus asks. ‘Did he realise what it meant?’

 

Sirius looks up at him and frowns. Remus can see the struggle for him to return to here and now. ‘What it meant?’ he echoes.

 

‘If Harry,’ Remus swallows, ‘has to be the one to _kill_ Voldemort, then he has to be physically, you know, able to do it. He couldn’t have been a baby.’

 

‘Oh,’ Sirius says. ‘I see what you meant. We –‘ he hesitates, and screws up his eyes, and says, ‘yes, we did. We talked about that. I remember he asked me how long I thought we’d have to wait. Until he was twelve, or sixteen, or what,’ Sirius suddenly breaks down and puts one hand over his eyes. ‘We were – we had to get drunk to talk about it. How old this little boy we both love – loved – dammit – how old he’d have to be.’ Sirius’s hand over his eyes is shaking and Remus wants to cry too. ‘I mean, how do you decide how old your son needs to be before he can murder someone? You can’t.’

 

‘Albus said to me that he thought just contact with Harry might do it…’

 

‘James said that too. But he didn’t seem optimistic. He said it seemed like Dumbledore didn’t really think that either.’

 

Remus takes a deep breath and tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling. ‘We’re supposed to protect him, Sirius. We promised James and Lily that we would. But if we want to end the war, we have to force him to confront Voldemort…’

 

‘I don’t think we’ll have to force him to do anything,’ Sirius says quietly. ‘It’s his choice. We’ll be there to protect him, but we’ll let him make it.’

 

‘And if he doesn’t want to?’

 

‘He’s James and Lily’s son,’ Sirius says, his voice breaking on the last word. ‘He’ll want to.’

 

***

A rainy June evening, and Remus stares at the letter in his hands, his heart pounding like he’s about to run a race. Then he wordlessly passes it to Sirius.

 

‘Come to Hogwarts at once. I must go on an errand and the school must be guarded.’

 

Sirius looks up at Remus. ‘Is this the thing?’ he whispers. ‘Did he find it – whatever it is? Is this what he’s been waiting for?’

 

Remus swallows. ‘It must be,’ he says. He’s lightheaded; this night could be the end of Voldemort. ‘We have to –‘ He looks around for his robe, wonders if he should take a drink of water, or use the toilet, or do something to prepare. He feels nauseous. ‘We have to go now.’

 

‘We have to get to Harry,’ Sirius agrees.

 

Together, they go.

 

***

Somehow, in the ensuing battle, they get split up – Remus chases one Death Eater, flooded with horror at the knowledge that this has all gone terribly wrong – and Sirius chases another, sprinting away down a hallway and trying to block out the dull, thudding terror of knowing that Harry has gone with Albus.

 

After the Death Eaters have fled, Tonks finds Remus.

 

‘Bill,’ she says, ‘oh Remus, Bill was bitten by Fenrir, you’ve got to come quick!’ He goes with her, numbly, and together they get him to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey sets to healing him immediately.

 

‘It’ll be all right,’ Remus says to no one in particular, not sure who he’s reassuring as he looks at Molly and Arthur’s oldest son, scarred beyond repair. ‘It wasn’t the full moon. They’re not deep cuts…’ Tonks puts a hand on his arm and he grips hers, stepping back to let Madam Pomfrey work.

 

Others come in to the room, including Harry, who looks shell-shocked. Remus recognises the look from his own face. He reaches out to his godson, but before his hand can get to his shoulder, Harry delivers the news.

 

Albus is dead.

 

There’s disbelief in the room, but Remus knows instantly from Harry’s face that this is the truth. He sits, because there’s nothing else he can do, and puts his head in his hands, and just tries to breathe.

 

Albus gave him every chance, he gave him the entire world, he trusted him when literally no one else did, not even Sirius.

 

Now, he’s gone.

 

And Harry says Severus did it…

 

Harry has his hand in his pocket, holding the note and the locket tightly. He thinks, briefly, of comforting Remus, but he feels too numb to do so.

 

Then someone yells just outside the room, and everyone looks up at the door: ‘Where is my godson?’

 

***

 

Sirius is panting hard, having sprinted up the stairs from the dungeons, where he’d pursued a Death Eater to the point of leaving him Petrified in what felt like the tenth floor underground. No one is around – the school is eerily silent – and he thinks the worst and runs for the hospital wing, where he meets Minerva, just leaving the room and shutting the door. Fear and pent-up adrenaline combine and he yells at her, without quite meaning to be so loud, ‘Where is my godson?’

 

Minerva looks, for a second, as if she might burst into tears. Sirius feels ice go through his veins; he thinks he might faint, and then adrenaline surges through him again. ‘Minerva, where is my godson?’

 

‘He’s in there,’ she says, her voice shaking slightly. ‘He’s fine, Sirius. Harry is fine.’

 

‘Remus?’ he asks, barely able to say his fiancé’s name for fear of her response.

 

She shuts her eyes. ‘Albus is dead.’

 

For a second, Sirius has no idea what to do, or say, let alone what to feel. Without Albus, he thinks stupidly, he’d have been handed over the Dementors. He never got to properly thank him for that. He can’t believe he’s just realising that now. ‘Minerva,’ he manages, ‘I’m so sorry.’

 

She shakes her head, and he can see her reach for her composure and find it. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she says briskly, ‘but we’ll carry on.’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius says softly. ‘I’ll just…’

 

She nods. ‘I must go meet Arthur and Molly,’ she says, and sweeps past him.

 

He gets inside, eyes only for two people, and is stunned to see Bill. He suddenly realises what Minerva had said, and feels a sharp pang for them, but Bill seems to be alive, at any rate.

 

‘I’m right here,’ Harry says, rather wryly, and Sirius steps towards him and wraps him in a tight hug.

 

‘I’m so glad to see you,’ he says. He leans back slightly, holds Harry’s shoulders, and looks into his face, a little startled by how close they are to being eye to eye. James was always shorter than he is. Harry looks like someone who’s had a terrible shock. Sirius keeps one hand on his shoulder and turns to the chair where Remus is slumped, one hand over his eyes. He puts his other hand out to Remus, who takes it with his free one and holds on like a man drowning.

 

Molly, Arthur, and Fleur come in, accompanied by Minerva, and Sirius says quietly, ‘Let’s go elsewhere.’

 

He leads them both into the hallway and to an open, empty classroom. They follow him inside, both seeming shocked in their own way, and he shuts the door and turns to them. Harry has sat on the teachers’ desk and pulled his legs up so that he’s sitting cross-legged, while Remus is pacing near the dark windows. Harry is playing with something he has taken out of his pocket.

 

Sirius is struck, suddenly, by the realisation that this is his family, and that he is needed here. He has to be strong for them. He’s never felt this way before, and it empowers him. He meets Remus’s eyes and beckons him close to Harry, and then he says, ‘We’re going to get through this together.’

 

Remus sits down in one of the student’s chairs and pulls at his hair. ‘We are,’ Sirius repeats fiercely. ‘We’re going to help each other and we aren’t going to let this defeat us.’ He looks at the two of them and feels full of every kind of emotion. ‘I promise.’

 

‘I believe you,’ Harry says softly. Remus, mouth in a tight line, nods.

 

‘I have to,’ Remus says, and then shuts his mouth again like he’s going to be sick.

 

‘Give it a moment,’ Sirius says. ‘The Death Eaters are gone. The danger’s passed, for now.’

 

Remus nods.

 

‘What’s that you’re looking at?’ Sirius asks Harry.

 

‘I’m-‘ Harry hesitates. ‘Professor Dumbledore gave me a special mission,’ he says, sounding determined. ‘I- I’m not sure what I- what to tell you. He asked me to keep it a secret. But we went to do the first part of it tonight. We had to go to this island and find a locket.’

 

Remus sits up very straight, suddenly completely focused on Harry. ‘That’s it?’ he asks. ‘You found it?’

 

‘Well,’ Harry says, ‘no, not quite.’ He holds it out and Sirius takes it. ‘It’s a fake,’ he says, sounding bitter. ‘Professor Dumbledore died because of it and it’s a fake. There was a note inside.’

 

Not really knowing what else to do, Sirius opens the clasp. It feels familiar in his hands, for some reason. The locket is empty.

 

‘What was the note?’ Remus asks.

 

Harry offers a balled-up sheet of paper and Sirius takes that too, uncrumples it, and reads aloud, ‘“To the Dark Lord - I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.”’ Sirius starts to get a strange feeling, like he knows the handwriting, or there’s something underlying the words, something magical, that is familiar… ‘“I have stolen the real Horcrux”-‘ he stumbles for a second on the unfamiliar word – ‘“and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.”’ He stops at the initials and stares.

 

‘Then someone signed it, but just with initials,’ Harry says, and he hears him, very distantly. ‘It says “R. A. B.”. So who knows who that is?’

 

‘R. A. B.?’ Remus repeats. Sirius realises that Remus is staring at him now. ‘Is that…?’

 

‘I know who it is,’ Sirius whispers.

 

Harry sounds floored. ‘Who?’

 

Sirius swallows and runs his fingers over the letters, feeling them slightly raised with ink. He imagines him writing it. ‘Regulus Arcturus Black.’ He looks up at the two of them. ‘My brother.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may take me some time to write - I wouldn't expect to see it before mid-July. I have a big irl project whose deadline is coming up and I also need to re-read Deathly Hallows and make sure I've got everything in order. I'd guess that there are four more chapters after this one left in the story. And maybe an epilogue ;).


	24. R. A. B.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's taken a long time for me to get this chapter out, so thank you if you are still reading. This one was very tough to write - both because it required a ton of research to get the canon right (I re-read DH! I took extensive notes!) but also because I needed to work to get the tone of the characters right. I hope that it rings true (you know, as true as any of this is...) to you. Please let me know if you enjoyed it!

The Ring of Brodgar, a Sunday night.

 

The orthostats don't like this magic.

 

He can feel them, just at the edge of his perception, vibrating along their length. He stands beside the tallest monolith and takes deep, gulping breaths. This magic is so ancient that its very depth terrifies him. They are ripping it from the ancestors, and if the grey sparks he can see out of the corners of his eyes are any indication, the ancestors are fucking livid.

 

He knows a lot about ancestors. He doesn’t think this is a wrath they want to incur, but, then, the wrath if they don’t won’t be pretty either.

 

Far off to the west, Bellatrix’s signal flares.

 

Regulus raises his wand.

 

***

 

Earlier that day:

 

Mulciber is doing something with his hands, breaking up some unfortunate creature for a spell. Regulus can see the twisting movements and hear occasional crunching. He thinks it might be a rat. The thought makes him ill.

 

Mulciber snorts. ‘Squeamish little thing, aren't you?’

 

The thing about light magic is that it's not supposed to hurt anything, and so you wind up with a bunch of wandwork and inert potions and careful cultivation of plants and animals. Even in transfiguration, you're expending magical energy constantly to ensure that the magic isn't actively harming what you're transfiguring, and creating pathways to allow it to change back if it so wishes. Dark magic has no such rules and as such is a more visceral, dirty, hands-on affair.

 

Mulciber tosses the dead animal onto the table. It is definitely a rat. ‘Hand me the-‘

 

Regulus is ready with tincture. He passes it off and walks to stare out the window. A train rattles somewhere nearby, the scream of its wheels on the rails faint but audible. He hears the hissing as Mulciber does whatever foul thing he’s doing and tries to breath shallowly, through his mouth only, but the stench is pervasive.

 

Mulciber hands him a sack. ‘You know what to do?’ he asks, sounding doubtful that someone as pathetic as Regulus could understand what to do with a dead rat covered in tincture and stuffed in a sack.

 

‘Yes,’ Regulus says, trying to keep it haughty. He knows that a lot of the other Death Eaters are sick of the Blacks’ upper-class shit, and that, perversely, makes him want to emphasise it more.

 

 _We are the chosen ones_ , his father always says. _They bow down to us._

 

Regulus goes.

 

***

Regulus gives the dead rat as wide a berth as he can once he has used it to gain access to the circle of stones. He steps down into the ditch that the ancient people who built the Ring dug from the sandstone bedrock of the island and, although it is mostly filled in by blowing sand and time, he can sense its original nine-foot depth rising on either side of him. A kind of claustrophobic paranoia has set in: he’s convinced the stones are moving just out of the corners of his eyes as he passes each one, that the empty sockets where others stood – under half of the original orthostats remain today – gape at him like open wounds. Magic is so thick in the air now that he can feel himself moving through it. He comes to the wide entrance of the ring and stops, taking several deep breaths.

 

He has to do this.

 

If he doesn’t do this, Bellatrix will murder him.

 

He looks towards the sack – placed just outside the entrance – and to his horror realises that it is crawling. He can hear the bones crunching inside as it twitches and jerks towards him, leaving a trail of dark liquid. His mouth is dry, his hands wet, his heart so loud it echoes off the stones. He tries to blink but there’s no difference in his view whether his eyes are closed or open: the sack. The ditch. Behind him, the stones. He tilts his head to look up and sees nothing but an endless velvety grey – no sky, no stars.

 

This magic is too powerful for him. He steps backwards and up, keeping his eyes on the sack, through the entryway so that he is now standing out of the ditch and inside of the stone ring. The sky is abruptly normal here. He can see Bellatrix’s signal flare blazing. The power they are channelling flies overhead, arcing off the ragged stone tops. A few seconds later, it is all over.

 

He’s done his part.

 

He doubles over in the sandy grass, retching.

 

***

After they channel the power of the ancient henges, Regulus is beset by a terrible guilt. He tries to work his way out of it, attending meetings about Black family holdings in Paris, Bonn, Amsterdam, his life a blur of international Floo stations and translation spells, but he can’t break free from it. It underlies every moment.

 

He’s walking up the steps to the West German equivalent of the Ministry of Magic, Kreacher hurrying beside him, when he catches a glimpse of a Muggle family walking along the banks of the Rhine. The West German wizarding world has been issuing increasingly desperate warnings to the British, cautioning against the rise of fascism with dire remembrances of Grindelwald and his alignment with the Third Reich. They keep their Muggles much closer here now, protected, and there’s even a movement to break their Statute of Secrecy and use magic to aid them. It’s all nonsense – they’ll never do it – too soft – as his father has blustered, but Regulus can’t get that Muggle family out of his mind. He’s never met a Muggle, and barely interacted with any Muggleborns, and now that makes it worse. He longs for a genuine connection with one, to somehow absolve himself of this terrible, pressing guilt.

 

Being a Death Eater had seemed a bit of a lark at first. Everyone he knew at school was doing it, everyone in his family was doing it (well, mostly), and it had seemed like the kind of thing that would help him make connections and distinguish himself while helping his father manage their various properties, investments, and holdings. Of course, he’d heard rumours about what they did… Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus had had a frankly disturbing wedding ceremony that had involved strange pledges he and his parents had found rather uncomfortable to make… but surely all this talk of actually killing Muggles was just that, talk? The kind of rhetoric the Dark Lord and his most fervent followers would have to use to sway the uncultured wizarding proletariat, who have always despised Muggles, to their side?

 

Instead he’s been drawn into a world of truly dark magic – not just owning some relics that channel dark power, which is a perfectly normal activity for a family like the Blacks, who will of course safeguard them in a way lesser families would not – but the kind of place where, well, he has to get his hands dirty. The Dark Lord designed that ceremony at the Ring of Brodgar to channel and strengthen dark magical power, and ever since Regulus has felt unclean. He’s convinced the ancestors have cursed him for using their artefacts for evil.

 

The curse has taken the form of unceasing contemplation of his own past.  

 

For the first time since leaving Hogwarts, he can’t stop thinking about his brother.

 

***

When they are children, Sirius is his hero.

 

Their house is dark and full of frightening things. For as long as he can remember, the house elf heads on the wall give him nightmares, even though Kreacher, whom he adores, assures him that they are not meant to scare. Whenever he awakes, terrified and crying, he knows he can go to Sirius’s room and his brother will be full of sympathy.

 

Sirius says he will protect him from anything, and Regulus believes him, deep in his heart, even when he is much too old for emotional nonsense. 

 

Their parents have a tumultuous relationship, and it takes Regulus years to understand that it is partially exacerbated by Sirius. One of his earliest memories is of the two of them playing in their mother’s closet, trying on her clothing – he remembers in perfect detail Sirius draped in her jewellery, rings and a tiara and a huge gold locket on a gold chain hanging around his neck as he applies lipstick in the wide mirror she kept by her bed – and of their mother coming home and finding them. She’d slapped Sirius with the back of her hand, making his cheek bleed, and she’d screamed at him about what their father would think if he’d seen his sons like that. In the middle of this, their father had appeared, and led Sirius away by the arm.

 

Sirius had wanted to play that game again the next day when they were once more alone, his face still swollen from bruises and tears, but Regulus had begged him not to because their parents’ anger scares him. At least then, Sirius had listened.

 

Later, after he went to Hogwarts, Sirius had stopped listening to anyone. He’d leave family dinners, slamming doors and yelling at his parents; he’d stay out late, skip holidays, abruptly announce that he was going to a friend’s house. At school, once Regulus starts, Sirius is distant, often at odds with Regulus’s friends, many of whom are their cousins. Sirius has his own friends, and none of them are particularly kind. One of them, a Pureblood from one of the most blood-traitor families, gifts Sirius with a number of posters of Muggle women wearing very little, sitting on Muggle motorcycles; Sirius hangs them defiantly in his room. Another of his friends is a Halfblood! At home, they are still allies, but there is a tightness there, a distance that Regulus longs to bridge but can’t.

 

***

The summons comes late at night: the Dark Lord requires a house elf.

 

Regulus, who is questioning his own loyalty, feels the need to prove it, both to himself and to the Dark Lord. Dark Mark still burning, he walks downstairs to Kreacher’s cupboard and wakes him. Kreacher is an excellent house elf, and Regulus is certain that he will do whatever the Dark Lord needs.

 

‘And come right home when you’re done,’ Regulus adds, because he feels uneasy. The Dark Lord will not hesitate to take again what he’s taken once.

 

His father is in Vienna – he’s just sent an owl to say he’ll be staying the night – and his mother has just had her fourth gin and tonic and is on her way to a dinner party, glamorous and steady on her feet as always, when Kreacher returns. Regulus hears the _pop_ of his Apparition and sets down his paper. He finds Kreacher in the kitchen.

 

The house elf is in a piteous state, lying on his side and shivering uncontrollably, dripping with fetid water. At first, Regulus, horrified, thinks he has soiled himself, but then he sees that Kreacher is fully soaked. He runs forward and falls to his knees before the little elf, putting his hands on his forehead and arm; he’s cold and clammy and his shivering is violent. Without thinking, Regulus grabs a tea towel from the counter and wraps the elf in it, rubbing the water off him and trying to warm him up. Kreacher is gasping for breath, with deep, painful squeaks; eventually, he staggers to the sink and vomits up copious quantities of water. Then he collapses down against the side of the counter, clutching the tea towel to himself, eyes wide open but staring at something far away from the darkened room.

 

‘Kreacher,’ Regulus gasps, utterly stricken and terrified for Kreacher’s life. ‘What happened to you?’

 

Kreacher coughs, a deep, wracking noise from somewhere low in his lungs, and rasps, ‘Kreacher has completed the Dark Lord’s mission for Master Regulus.’

 

Horrified, Regulus asks, ‘What was it? What was the mission?’

 

Kreacher coughs some more. Regulus gets to his feet and searches the drawers until he finds more tea towels, then sits in front of the elf – he’s frightened by how tiny Kreacher is, how fragile he suddenly is – and piles them around him, trying to warm him. Kreacher seems unable or unwilling to hold them, so Regulus tucks them in tightly, then sits in front of him, watching him closely.

 

Finally, Kreacher says, ‘The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a lake. An underground lake, inside a cave. He asked Kreacher to drink a potion he put into a basin on an island in the lake. The Dark Lord took Kreacher to it on a boat.’ Kreacher hesitates, still not looking at Regulus. ‘The potion was not good for Kreacher. It made him very ill.’

 

‘What was the potion?’ Regulus asks, because it is something to ask, to understand how to help the elf.

 

Kreacher looks at him then. ‘Wizard magic,’ he says, impassively, but Regulus feels the weight of the words: it was harmful to elves, and a wizard made him drink it, and a wizard didn’t care that it made him ill.

 

‘Kreacher,’ Regulus says, without really meaning to. Kreacher is still looking at him, but if there’s accusation in his look, Regulus can’t see it.

 

‘Kreacher drank all of the potion,’ Kreacher continues, ‘but it made him thirsty.’

 

‘Why did the Dark Lord have you drink this potion?’ Regulus asks. ‘Did he say?’

 

‘He did not say,’ Kreacher says, the acceptance of a house elf in the face of all human nonsense, the way that Kreacher used to say that he didn’t know why Master Sirius had asked him to burn down the house.

 

‘He put a locket in the basin,’ Kreacher volunteers suddenly. Regulus looks at him, startled. He’s never heard Kreacher spontaneously tell him something.

 

‘A locket?’ he asks, carefully, not wanting to frighten Kreacher. ‘What did it look like?’

 

Kreacher describes something that sounds rather like the locket his mother has, the one that Sirius used to play with. ‘And then he put it in the basin after you drank the potion?’

 

Kreacher nods. ‘Then the Dark Lord took the boat and left.’

 

Regulus is frowning, trying to understand. ‘Then what did you do?’

 

Kreacher doesn’t speak for so long that Regulus starts to ask again; then Kreacher says, voice very quiet, ‘Kreacher was so thirsty. There was water in the lake. Kreacher thought he’d just have a drink from the lake and then come right home like Master Regulus asked.’

 

‘Of course,’ Regulus says. ‘I know you were going to do what I asked you to.’

 

Kreacher starts to cry, very suddenly. Regulus has never seen him or any house elf cry before, and it is horrible. Kreacher has none of the human pretence of trying to hide emotions, and he merely sits, his entire body heaving with sobs. Regulus is struck again by how tiny and frail the house elf is, how important he is. He wants to comfort him, but has no idea how. Then Kreacher says, voice shaking, ‘There were _people_ in the water. Dead people.’

 

Regulus blinks. ‘Dead people?’ Kreacher nods, tears rolling down his withered cheeks. ‘Like… bodies?’

 

‘They moved. They grabbed Kreacher.’

 

Inferi.

 

They channelled the magic to resurrect them that night in of the Ring of Brodgar.

 

***

That night, he lies in bed, images falling heavily like bricks into his consciousness:

 

The rat twitching in the bag, the crunch of its bones.

 

The flickers at the corners of his vision, the shapes on the edge of the henge: the ancestors, out of sight but _present_.

 

Bellatrix, laughing, standing atop Silbury Hill as Regulus Apparates to her side.

 

Kreacher on the floor of the kitchen, Kreacher soaked in corpse water, Kreacher crying miserably, wrapped in tea towels.

 

This is Regulus’s fault.

 

He tries to tell himself that Bellatrix would have just replaced him that night with someone else, that he’s not even a particularly able wizard – that someone else could have done it better – but he knows the truth. He made a choice.

 

Now, he has to make another.

 

***

They go straight from Gringotts to their private club, where he and his father often share a drink and conduct business.

His father exhales as he sinks back into the plush leather chair in the private room they maintain there. ‘I hate dealing with those little bastards,’ he says of the goblins, without real malice. ‘But at least they’re predictable. They always want more money.’

 

Regulus, preoccupied, makes a noncommittal noise of assent and opens the book he’d bought at Borgin and Burkes. Inside is the newsprint clipping he’d found earlier in the morning at the public library. A house elf, carefully dressed in what appear to be green velvet drape offcuttings, brings them each a tumbler of firewhisky, neat. This is his father’s drink and so it has become Regulus’s too.

 

Orion crosses one leg over his other and takes a long sip of the whisky. ‘What did you think of the meeting?’ he asks, and Regulus hears the shrewd question underneath it: _what are you thinking about that has nothing to do with this?_

 

‘I think it went as well as could be expected,’ Regulus says, not sure if he’s willing to answer the other. ‘We’ll make a tidy profit on the project in the end, even if they are extorting us with loan interest. And we’re shifting much of the risk of it onto the goblins.’

 

‘Indeed,’ his father agrees. They sit in companionable silence for several minutes, but Regulus cannot bring himself to open the book again. The club is too much their space, he and his father’s, and he doesn’t want to violate its sanctity with whatever evil the Dark Lord has planned.

 

‘Regulus,’ his father says, quietly, and Regulus wonders if he’s somehow practising Occlumency against him. ‘What are you worried about?’

 

‘I,’ Regulus glances, without meaning to, at his forearm, covered in several layers of cotton and wool, but nevertheless intruding into his thoughts, ‘I’m thinking about taking a step back from the Dark Lord’s operations.’

 

‘Oh?’ His father’s voice sounds careful, withholding judgment.

 

‘It seemed advantageous when I joined,’ Regulus says, also speaking carefully. He would die with shame if his father found out the terrible things he’s done. ‘But now that they’ve gotten some power, I fear that things are – that things are getting out of hand.’

 

‘Indeed,’ his father says.

 

Regulus glances at him; he’s nodding, and regarding his son with a steady gaze. Regulus exhales deeply and says, ‘The problem is, it’s not going to be easy to take a step back.’

 

‘Whatever you need,’ his father says immediately. ‘I’m sure I can cook up a scheme in Shanghai that you have to attend to for six months if need be.’

 

Regulus smiles, thinly, because that sounds ideal but he knows that he has work to do here. ‘I may take you up on that,’ he says, hoping against hope that he can.

 

‘Whatever you need,’ his father repeats, before raising his glass to his lips and draining it. He reaches up and rings the bell behind his seat; the house elf appears almost instantly and refills the glass. Regulus senses that the conversation is not done, but for the next hour, as twilight deepens into the early night of deep winter, they speak only of business, moving papers around, writing correspondence. His father rings for the house elf again and has her stoke the fire; Regulus cannot stop watching her, thinking of her inner life. What does she make of this club, this place, his family, of him?

 

Finally, his father pushes aside his papers and says, ‘Regulus.’

 

‘Yes?’

 

Orion doesn’t speak for so long that he looks at him; he is staring at the fire, the light of it playing across his glasses and obscuring his eyes. Then he says the last thing Regulus expects: ‘Have you spoken with – in a while, or recently – have you spoken with your brother?’

 

‘No,’ Regulus says, not sure where this is going, ‘but I think about him often.’

 

His father steeples his fingers in front of his face and says, ‘Before we met at Gringotts, I was at the Ministry, speaking with the Minister, and I happened to run into Rufus Scrimgeour.’

 

‘He’s head of the Aurors?’

 

‘Second in command. Behind Moody.’

 

Regulus nods. The Scrimgeours are a respectable family, much more so than the Moodys. ‘What made you think of… of that?’

 

‘Scrimgeour gave me a warning,’ his father says, voice very quiet. ‘About – your brother.’

 

Regulus has never heard his father even mention Sirius since the night he left. ‘What kind of warning?’

 

‘He said that Sirius was involved in a group sponsored by Dumbledore that is acting outside of the Ministry to – well, to fight the Dark Lord. He said that the Ministry can’t possibly protect this group, and that some members of it have been put into very dangerous situations.’

 

Regulus looks at his father, who is not looking at him at all. He’s still staring into the fire, a grim look on his face. ‘What do you think we should do?’

 

His father shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure there is anything we can do. If you had spoken with him, I’d have had you mention it, but…’

 

Regulus hesitates. ‘Do you want me to speak with him?’ he asks finally.

 

‘Not if it’s out of the ordinary,’ Orion says. There’s such a long pause that Regulus thinks the matter is closed. Then his father says, abruptly, into the warm silence of the room, ‘I do wish that you two spoke. Not often, but sometimes.’ Regulus looks up at his father, who says, without looking at him, ‘It would certainly set your mother’s mind at ease, to know that he’s – that he’s not alone.’

 

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Regulus says. He remembers the last time he saw Sirius: leaving the Hogwarts Express, on his own, at the end of his seventh year, while Kreacher stood by, holding Regulus’s trunk. Sirius had ignored them both.

 

Add another item to the list of impossible things he has to accomplish.

 

***

 

Back in his room, Regulus looks again at the news clippings he’s put up on his wall and adds the newest one. For weeks – ever since things happened with Kreacher – he’s been digging up as much information as he can, consulting records, seeking out seemingly innocuous news stories. He steps back, holding the book on Dark objects from Borgin and Burkes.

 

He's had his suspicions that the Dark Lord is not who he says he is, but this? A Halfblood?

 

_Tom Riddle, local son, murdered..._

 

The Dark Lord has gone to great lengths to hide his identity. Regulus feels that even knowing this information is a mistake. He will be caught, and he will be made to suffer for it. But the Dark Lord is using them, all of the old families, the Blacks and the Malfoys and Lestranges, in his illegitimate quest for power. He has no right to it, he hasn't earned it...

 

Regulus is moving towards another reason, one that he's been trying to ignore. He remembers Sirius squinting at Bellatrix across the Christmas dinner table a few years ago: "We're not entitled to more than anyone else." Where had Sirius ever learned that? They are Blacks, of course they are...

 

He opens the curtain slightly and waves his hand, briefly dispelling the magic left over from childhood that enchants his view. Outside, the Muggle world is grey, rain pattering on his window and making everything appear as a watercolour. He sees the square and its desultory garden, the black iron fence leaning inward, keeping out a little more of the world at its top than where it meets the ground. This is what Sirius insisted is worth just as much as the magical world within the house?

 

***

Regulus is fourteen, and he sneaks into the kitchen and finds the sandwich that he knows Kreacher will have prepared for Sirius, not because Kreacher has any affection for him, but because the house elf knows that Regulus will want him to do it. Regulus takes the plate and its contents upstairs and finds his brother sitting on his bed. Every other room in the house usually has the curtains drawn, but Sirius has opened his window and has his head turned towards it. Regulus can hear the sounds of Muggle London: sirens and trains and cars and airplanes, all the ways Muggles use to cheat since they don't have magic.

 

'Hey,' he says quietly.

 

'Hey,' Sirius replies. He turns away from the window; his eyes are red. 'Thanks.'

 

'Of course,' Regulus says, sitting on the bed and passing Sirius the plate. He watches his brother eat for a minute, wolfing down the food, clearly famished, then says, 'Why can't you just lie to them?'

 

'I'm trying to change people's minds,' Sirius says around a mouthful of bread and egg salad.

 

'I don't think it's going to work.'

 

'What else can I do? I have to try.'

 

Regulus studies his brother. He's not sure if he believes him or not, but he thinks that Sirius believes himself. 'They're not going to change.'

 

'They?' Sirius repeats. 'What about you?'

 

'What about me?' Regulus says. He flops backwards on the bed. 'I'm sick of the whole thing. I don't even care what happens. I just want to stop fighting about it.'

 

'I don't like fighting,' Sirius objects.

 

'Liar,' Regulus says.

 

'Really.'

 

Regulus shrugs, drops it. He still thinks Sirius is lying, but that's how he deals with conflict. He lets it go. He wishes his brother would do the same.

 

***

 

It takes Regulus several hours to truly understand what a horcrux is.

 

He reads about them that night in the book that he’d purchased. He’s focused in on the locket from Kreacher’s tale, as the object that the Dark Lord so wanted to protect that he borrowed a house elf and forced it to drink the poison. It’s not that the Dark Lord would have considered it a sacrifice to leave the elf to die – he probably thought of that as a side benefit – but rather that he had to get the elf in the first place, travel with it…

 

Travel with _him_. With Kreacher.

 

So Regulus knows that the locket is valuable. He’s been scouring books on magical objects, at first focusing on the fact that it is a locket (a binding item, the type that wraps around the neck, but also a containing item, that can hold and conceal), and then that it is gold (the most immutable of the true elements), but finally he’s given up on those avenues and is now trying to understand if there are classes of objects that, like portkeys but more permanent, can be something entirely different from their exterior appearance. He’d found the book he holds now in a list of books, deep within another book, and it had taken Borgin some time to source it.

 

In this book is a description of horcruxes. Regulus is disgusted – not fully with murder, which he knows is something the Dark Lord doesn’t hesitate to commit as often as possible, but with the process of ripping the soul – but it doesn’t immediately stick in his mind. He continues reading for another hour, coming up with nothing, eyes growing increasingly heavy despite the fascinating subject matter. Eventually he rings the bell for Kreacher, who enters his room with a warm milk on a tray as he always does.

 

‘Kreacher,’ Regulus says, patting his bed. ‘Sit and talk with me.’

 

They used to talk when Regulus was younger – he’d pour all of his thoughts into the house elf, complaints about this cousin or that, worries about Sirius and school. Regulus does not remember Kreacher ever saying a thing about himself, and it pains him now, deeply, that he never noticed.

 

Kreacher sits on the edge of his bed and holds the tray for him. Regulus takes the milk and leans back against his pillows, waving his hand at the tray to indicate that Kreacher can set it on the floor.

 

‘Kreacher,’ he asks carefully, ‘I’m thinking about when you – when you went on your journey with the Dark Lord.’

 

Kreacher’s grey skin pales. ‘Go on, Master Regulus.’

 

‘Do you remember anything about how the locket felt?’

 

Kreacher screws up his face, thinking hard. ‘The Dark Lord didn’t let Kreacher touch it.’

 

‘Sorry, yes, that makes sense,’ Regulus says quickly. ‘I meant more, how it felt without touching it. Could you – sometimes with magical objects you can –‘

 

Kreacher swallows visibly. ‘The locket felt angry.’

 

‘Angry?’ Regulus repeats, confused.

 

‘It didn’t want to hold what it was holding.’

 

‘What was it holding?’

 

Kreacher hesitates. ‘Something evil, Master Regulus. Something Kreacher does not want to think about.’

 

Regulus leans back against his headboard. He can see that the elf is still upset, and he feels bad for bringing it up, so he leans forward and says, ‘Kreacher, how are you? Are you happy?’

 

Kreacher gives him a look that can best be described as unnerved. ‘Kreacher tries to serve the House of Black well.’

 

‘No one would do it better,’ Regulus assures him, and Kreacher beams with happiness. ‘But what do you – what – is there anything you’d like to do besides that?’

 

Kreacher shakes his head emphatically. ‘To serve his masters well is Kreacher’s only wish.’

 

‘What about,’ Regulus digs around, trying to think of something that he could suggest beyond drudgery, ‘going outside? Going to – to see something else? The seaside, or…?’

 

Kreacher frowns. ‘Mistress Black took Kreacher to the seaside just a year ago,’ he says, and Regulus can feel that the elf does not want to contradict him.

 

‘Good,’ he says, because he is trying to think of Kreacher, and does not want to push him. ‘Well, if you think of anything you want to do – anything at all – tell me, and we’ll do it.’ He pauses, and then adds, ‘That would make me very happy. To do something for you.’

 

Kreacher looks at him with his big, bulbous eyes. Regulus thinks there’s a flicker behind them, some kind of recognition of what Regulus is doing, but he’s not sure. Then Kreacher says something unexpected: ‘Kreacher would not like to work for the Dark Lord again.’

 

‘No,’ Regulus says emphatically, ‘Kreacher – you – will absolutely not be working for him again. Or for anyone who is not a member of the House of Black. I promise you that.’

 

Kreacher exhales like he’s been waiting to do it for days. ‘Master Regulus is the kindest master a house elf could have.’

 

Regulus snorts. ‘If that were true, I never would have sent you to him in the first place,’ he snaps.

 

Kreacher inclines his head in a nod, a familiar expression to Regulus, and one that he realises now indicates polite disagreement. It hurts him deeply that Kreacher still thinks he is a kind master after he sent him off to the Dark Lord to prove his own loyalty without thinking through what Kreacher’s fate would be.

 

‘I need to sleep,’ he says, because he can’t face the unconditional trust and love that Kreacher gives to him. The house elf leaves and he pulls the duvet up to his face, chilled in the winter night.

 

The locket must be a horcrux. What else would the Dark Lord protect so dearly but a part of his own soul? It’s clear he’s never had regard for anything else.

 

Regulus realises that he has to act now, not in the future, not theoretically. The Dark Lord has created a place to store part of his soul – surely he’ll create more – he’ll become impossible to kill.

 

Regulus realises a second later that this means he believes the Dark Lord not only needs to fall from power, but that he needs to be killed.

***

 

He does not sleep that night, in part because he receives a summons. By the time that he arrives, other Death Eaters have already made quick work of the house, and Karkaroff and Dolohov are preparing to leave the Dark Mark in the sky.

 

‘Marlene McKinnon,’ says Dolohov, with extreme contempt. ‘Stupid dyke tried to stun me.’

 

Regulus is disgusted by him, disgusted by Karkaroff, by the partially destroyed house, by the entire enterprise.

 

‘She got what was coming to her,’ Karkaroff agrees. ‘Black, you’re late.’

 

‘I was sleeping,’ Regulus says coldly. ‘I had to dress. I don’t particularly care that I missed you murdering someone because she tried to stun you, by the way.’

 

‘There was a Muggle sleeping in her bed!’ Dolohov snaps.

 

‘Was,’ Karkaroff agrees, one eyebrow raised.

 

Regulus cannot get out of here fast enough. He’s utter shit at hiding his emotions and he loathes these people. Luckily for him, the air suddenly explodes with Apparition. He recognises the face of James Potter amongst others and ducks as Dolohov yells and starts shooting spells.

 

‘There’s too many!’ Karkaroff snaps, grabbing Dolohov and Regulus by the back of their cloaks, which Regulus is infinitely grateful for as they fly through the coloured tube of magical space. Karkaroff drops them in a dark, stone-walled hall. Dolohov is spitting mad.

 

‘I was going to kill James Potter once and for all,’ he snarls. ‘The Dark Lord would have rewarded me for that!’

 

‘You were going to get us all killed,’ Karkaroff hisses. ‘There were at least six of them. McKinnon was one of the most popular Gryffindors.’

 

Regulus clamps his hand around his forearm, which is burning like fire with the residue of the summons and his own blood hammering through his veins. He wants no part of this conversation. ‘If we’re quite done,’ he says, ‘I’m leaving.’

 

Karkaroff gives him a calculating look that activates Regulus’s fight-or-flight response. ‘You seem to have more important business than the Dark Lord’s,’ he says shrewdly.

 

‘I haven’t had a chance tonight to do much business for the Dark Lord,’ Regulus replies, trying to keep his voice even. ‘I arrived at a mess you two made-‘

 

‘Careful, little one,’ Dolohov says, his wand suddenly in his hand. ‘Just because you’re a posh cunt doesn’t mean we have to put up with you.’

 

Regulus considers a fight, but changes his mind. ‘I’m leaving,’ he informs them. ‘If you have something real you need help with, by all means, let me know.’ Shaking, he Apparates to the street outside #12 Grimmauld Place, certain that they will have followed him looking for a fight, certain that he’s about to be murdered, but instead he makes it through the front door without incident. He flops back against the wall, waiting for his heart to slow down enough to make his way upstairs.

 

‘Regulus? Darling?’

 

His mother steps out of the shadows of the hallway. She is wearing a long, green silk dressing gown and holding a single candlestick, her free hand cupped around the flame.

 

‘Mother,’ he says, trying to sound normal. ‘Sorry if I woke you.’

 

She steps close to him and puts the cool back of her hand on his face. ‘Darling, you’re sweating.’

 

‘I – there was – I had to –‘

 

She shakes her head. ‘Come, sit with me,’ she says softly.

 

Regulus follows her up the stairs to one of the libraries, her favourite room in the house, all dark wood panelling and shelves that stretch upward higher than he can look. Sirius had always loved this room too; halfway through family dinners, Regulus would find him in here, slouched across a velvet couch, a book in his lap, sometimes reading, sometimes staring vaguely into the distance.

 

His mother sits down, gracefully sweeping her robe underneath her and her long hair onto her shoulder. She sets the candle into the empty arm of a candelabra and offers Regulus a tumbler of amber liquid. ‘My love,’ she says, ‘what’s happened?’

 

Regulus takes the glass but doesn’t drink from it yet, swirling the liquid and breathing in its heady scent. ‘Just a meeting,’ he says, trying to rid the smell of the McKinnon house from his mind.

 

‘Orion says you’re thinking of leaving the Dark Lord’s organisation,’ she says. Regulus looks up at her, startled; the thought of his parents having a conversation without him is somehow surprising. He didn’t know they’d spoken to each other beyond the most banal pleasantries since Sirius left.

 

‘It’s,’ he swallows, ‘it’s not for me. That’s all. It’s not that I don’t support his ideas…’

 

‘You were never made for anything but leading,’ Walburga says in her husky, always perceptive voice. ‘My darling Regulus.’ She reaches out for his hand and he clasps it tightly, even though the compliment feels like ash on his tongue.

 

‘I’m worried,’ he says, quietly, still not sure if he should reveal his hand, ‘that…’

 

‘What?’

 

‘James Potter was there tonight,’ he says, swallowing. ‘I couldn’t – if it were Sirius-‘

 

Walburga has not spoken Sirius’s name, at least not in Regulus’s earshot, since he was last in this house, and she physically recoils from it now, though she recovers quickly. ‘What do you need?’ she asks, just like Orion had. ‘Orion said we could send you on some urgent business trip far away. Hong Kong, Cape Town, Shanghai… a place too far for brief travel, where there would be bureaucratic red tape to keep you from leaving easily.’

 

Regulus thinks, despairingly, that he has to prepare here – he has to figure out how to destroy a horcrux. If he went somewhere else, he wouldn’t have even the slightest notion of where to begin to look for that information, and he would be far away from where he could do something about it once he does figure out what to do.

 

Over the next few days, however, it becomes clear that he needs to find somewhere to hide, because he cannot bring himself to do Death Eater business and as a result angers multiple other members of the group. He asks Kreacher to lie to his parents, and tell them that he is going to see some old school friends in Hong Kong, and departs one afternoon, shutting the door on 12 Grimmauld Place for what he feels suddenly certain is the final time.

 

***

Approaching the British Museum, Regulus is terrified, possibly more so than he has been during this entire endeavour, but he thinks of Kreacher’s wails of agony and forces himself to walk through the huge metal gates. He has dressed himself in some Muggle clothing he found in Sirius’s room – their mother has insisted that no one touch the room, and Regulus has found it to be full of strange and wondrous artefacts of his brother’s secret internal life – but he feels like he is unmistakably a wizard.

 

The museum is a veritable hive of Muggles, swarming every which way, children racing about, their brightly coloured coats open to the cold day, the adults calling after them lazily, standing in clumps, taking photographs – _but they’ll never move_! Regulus thinks in pity – and lounging on the wide steps under the clear sky. He ascends the stairs and enters through a large set of double doors, emerging into the cavernous foyer of an even more cavernous place.

 

The allusion to the cave strengthens his resolve.

 

Surrounded by Muggles, he walks forward, trying to appear like he knows where he’s going. He has the idea to put a trace on Sirius. But then –

 

‘Can I help you, sir?’

 

He turns to see a very pretty Muggle woman with a nametag looking up at him and smiling.

 

‘You looked a bit lost, that’s all.’

 

‘I,’ Regulus starts, his first word to a Muggle in he doesn’t know how long – maybe ever – and he has to lick his lips, ‘I’m looking for someone who works here. My brother. I don’t know where his office is.’

 

‘Oh!’ the woman exclaims. ‘I can help you! Come over to my desk and we’ll check the staff directory.’ She leads him to a small, well-lit desk in the foyer and says over her shoulder, ‘I’m new here, so give me a moment. What’s his name?’

 

‘Sirius Black,’ Regulus says, wondering as soon as he does if his brother uses a different name – a more Muggle one. Surely the last name Black must command some memory of respect…

 

‘Here he is, I’ll give him a ring,’ she says, having flipped through a small notebook. She lifts up a device – Regulus has no idea what it is, and shies away from it, but only slightly, not enough for her to notice, he’s certain – and after a complicated series of actions with her fingers, she lifts part of it to her ear and waits. Regulus can hear a periodic double chime coming from it – this must be some kind of summoning bell. His hands are sweating profusely and he resists the urge to wipe them on his trousers. He can’t believe he’s about to see Sirius.

 

But then, he isn’t, or at least not immediately, because she puts down the device and says that he’s not answering, and she’ll just pop upstairs and see if he’s in. Regulus nods and she disappears up a wide set of stairs. Time seems to crawl by, as Muggles pass around him, some close enough to touch him – a child runs towards him, dodges his legs by inches – and he feels trapped inside the building. He tries to slow down his breathing by counting slowly but he can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

 

‘I’m so sorry, I’m new and I forgot to ask his name,’ he hears the woman say, and he looks up to see her descending the stairs, his brother behind her. Sirius is dressed in conventional Muggle clothing and the light is low but he’s unmistakable.

 

Sirius sees Regulus a second later, and he actually stops on the stairs, his face arrested. Regulus tries to make himself look sympathetic.

 

The woman notices Sirius has stopped, turns, and asks, ‘Oh no, is it bad news?’

 

Sirius shakes his head, clearly an act of will, and says in a carrying voice, ‘No, no, I was just expecting,’ he shakes his head again, ‘my other brother.’ He breaks away from the woman and walks to Regulus. There’s fury in his gaze, but he says very politely, ‘Regulus, what a surprise.’

 

‘Hello,’ Regulus breathes, terrified.

 

‘Why don’t we have a cup of tea?’ Sirius suggests, and he puts a hand on Regulus’s arm and steers him in a none-too-kindly way, calling over his shoulder to the still stricken-looking woman, ‘Thanks so much!’

 

‘We could go…’

 

‘Here,’ Sirius says, very grim. ‘In public.’ He doesn’t look at Regulus as he leads him into the museum proper, through endless crowds of Muggles – Muggle children, Muggle adults, yelling, talking, pointing, slumping against walls, holding stationary maps, holding conventional cameras…

 

‘Stop it,’ Sirius snaps.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Staring at people.’

 

‘They’re-‘

 

‘I realise,’ Sirius says, and his voice is impossibly cold, ‘that your natural instinct is to commit genocide, but I’d rather you reined it in at the moment, as I don’t want to cause a scene.’

 

Stung, Regulus tries to jerk his arm out of Sirius’s grasp; Sirius only tightens his hold. Regulus is certain he’s going to bruise. ‘I’m not planning to commit a… a… I’m just not used to being around them.’

 

‘People?’ Sirius suggests. ‘I suppose shut up at home with Kreacher, you wouldn’t be.’

 

‘You know what I mean,’ Regulus hisses, mad at Sirius and mad at himself for taking the bait. They have arrived at a small café inside the building. It is even more full of Muggles and their children, but Regulus finds he is furious enough that he is no longer panicking.

 

Still holding onto Regulus with one hand, Sirius buys them each a tea, chattering inanely with the woman behind the counter, using Muggle money like it’s natural, then forces Regulus to a table. Regulus is fuming until Sirius speaks.

 

‘So, is Father dead or something?’

 

‘What?’ Regulus asks, startled. ‘No. No, absolutely not.’

 

‘Mother?’

 

‘No one’s dead, Sirius.’

 

‘Except all the victims of you and your friends’ terror attacks.’

 

Regulus swallows. ‘No one in the family.’

 

‘Too bad,’ Sirius snaps, sounding bitter. ‘How did you know I was here?’

 

Regulus winces. He’s been dreading this. ‘Kreacher.’

 

‘Kreacher?’

 

Delicately, he says, ‘Mother has him check up on you.’

 

Sirius is obviously horrified. ‘What?’

 

‘Just to be sure you’re well,’ Regulus says quickly. ‘Just to be-‘

 

‘He’s been following me around? And reporting on me?’

 

‘Not- I mean- we just want to know you’re well,’ Regulus spreads his hands in front of him. ‘I’m sorry. Really. I know you don’t want anything to do with us. I wouldn’t have come to you if it wasn’t desperate.’

 

‘Then why did you come?’ Sirius demands.

 

Scared, Regulus lowers his voice. ‘I need your help.’

 

Sirius stares at him. He looks like his eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hairline. ‘My help?’

 

‘I know that I’ve,’ Regulus stops, swallows hard, and continues, ‘I’ve made mistakes. I know that. Believe me.’

 

‘Well at least you know,’ Sirius mutters.

 

‘But I don’t want to any more,’ Regulus admits.

 

Sirius blinks at him, then hunches over the table, his hands wrapped around his teacup, leaning in close. ‘What do you want?’ he hisses.

 

Regulus feels – though he’s not certain if it’s psychosomatic – his Dark Mark throb. ‘Do you…’ he reaches for Sirius’s napkin. ‘A pen? Do you have a pen?’

 

Sirius draws out a Muggle pen from his pocket, and when Regulus looks baffled, he uncaps it and presses it into Regulus’s hand. Regulus writes on the napkin, ‘I made a mistake.’ He looks up at Sirius, who is frowning, a line between his eyebrows, looking at the napkin rather than Regulus. Regulus takes a deep breath and writes, ‘I’m sorry.’ He looks up at Sirius again, who nods, once, jerkily. Regulus takes another deep breath and writes the thing he’s been dreading: ‘I don’t want to be a Death Eater anymore.’

 

Sirius looks at the napkin, blinking. ‘Regulus…’

 

‘I can’t talk about it,’ Regulus whispers. ‘Not here.’ He’s terrified of he’s not sure what but he feels exposed. He doesn’t think it’s just being surrounded by Muggles.

 

Sirius hesitates, then says, ‘Let’s go to my office.’

 

Tea forgotten, he takes Regulus upstairs, into a strange warren of offices and then through a door, marked, ‘Ceramics Typology’, obviously designed to keep out Muggles, and then through a magical door, marked, ‘Department of Magical Restoration and Conservation’, through which lies a laboratory filled with objects in varying states of ancient and broken. Regulus looks around, gaping a bit at the strange space, and Sirius says, gruffly, ‘Whatever you’re thinking, however disappointed you are in me, I don’t want to hear it.’

 

‘I’m not,’ Regulus starts, sputtering, and shock is much more the word than disappointed anyway. This is emphatically not where he had expected his brother to be. He manages to say, ‘I just knew you were going to be an Auror, before. And now you’re not.’

 

‘I felt ethically compromised,’ Sirius says, his voice tense. ‘They wanted me to do things I wasn’t comfortable with.’

 

‘All right,’ Regulus says, taken aback. He thinks of the large, neat desks of bankers, of lords, of ministers, of _influential people_ , and looks at Sirius’s small desk, covered in rubbish.

 

‘So?’ Sirius asks. ‘You don’t… you don’t want…’ he seems lost. ‘You don’t want to be a Death Eater. Anymore.’

 

Regulus shakes his head. Tears are unexpectedly prickling behind his eyes. He’s suddenly so happy to see his brother. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. He’s not sure if he’s apologizing for quitting, or for joining in the first place, or for everything else. ‘I made a mistake. I made a lot of mistakes. They… bad things have happened.’

 

Sirius looks incredulous. ‘I mean…’

 

‘I know,’ Regulus says, pleading, ‘I know. I know they have been, for a long time. But really bad things.’

 

Sirius winces. ‘I’m not certain that I want to know,’ he says. ‘Not now, anyway.’ He steps closer to Regulus, so that they are side by side, facing the room, and puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘What do you need?’

 

‘I…’ Regulus is viscerally reminded of his parents. He weighs what he wants to tell Sirius. He isn’t sure he can trust him with his plan, even though every part of him is screaming out that he wants to. ‘I need a safe place to stay. Just for a few days. I have some… I’m thinking about what I want to do. I mean, I know I’m not going to be a Death Eater anymore. But, I can’t… I can’t stay in the country if I… I have to put things in motion, I have to…’ He takes a deep breath, tries to collect his thoughts. ‘I told everyone I was travelling abroad for a few days.’

 

‘You need somewhere to stay.’

 

‘Yes,’ Regulus says.

 

‘Stay with me,’ Sirius says, perfectly simple, and if there’s the weight of time and distance there, Regulus doesn’t hear it.

 

‘Are you sure? I think – if they figure out I’m not abroad – it won’t be safe.’

 

‘Who knows you aren’t?’

 

Regulus thinks. ‘Just Kreacher. I lied to father and mother.’

 

‘And you forbade Kreacher to talk about it?’

 

‘Of course.’

 

Sirius shrugs. ‘I think we’ll be all right then,’ he says. ‘Our – my – the flat is very secure.’ He stops talking long enough that Regulus glances at him; he’s staring at his desk, an abstracted look on his face. ‘I live with someone,’ he says, when he notices Regulus looking. ‘We’ve made it very secure.’

 

Regulus nods, so grateful he feels like he might faint. ‘Thank you, really, truly.’

 

Sirius looks pensive for a moment, then says, ‘I’m glad you came to me.’ He steps away and looks around the office, suddenly purposeful. ‘I don’t have anything that won’t wait for tomorrow. Let’s go.’

 

Regulus looks around for a fireplace. ‘Is there…?’

 

‘I’m not authorised to use the Floo network with the new anti-terrorism laws, and I don’t want to create a magical pathway that can be traced by Apparating there. So,’ and Sirius’s voice is, to Regulus’s ears, carefully light, ‘We’ll take the Muggle way.’

 

Regulus’s stomach sinks. ‘A… cab?’

 

Sirius grins. ‘The tube.’

 

***

Regulus does not want to Apparate even partway and get caught by any of his Death Eating colleagues, so instead they walk to a tube station. The day is miserable, cold sleet on the slick pavement, and Regulus is not used to experiencing the elements. The Muggle clothing he borrowed isn’t particularly warm, either. He casts a warming charm on his hands and hopes to Merlin that no one is tracking him closely enough to notice.

 

The tube station is a hot maw at the base of a building, exhaling a metallic smell that Regulus has never encountered before but, with a sinking feeling, realises he’s about to. Sirius seems completely comfortable, and Regulus takes some comfort from that, as Sirius buys him a ticket and then demonstrates how to walk through the barrier to go inside – ‘Easy as Platform 9 ¾,’ Sirius claims, which is a lie. Regulus gets hung up in the barrier and Sirius has to extract him. A stationmaster shouts at them, which terrifies Regulus – don’t Muggles often resort to physical violence? – until Sirius kindly holds up his ticket and the man – a Muggle – lays hands on him and helps tug his arm free. This is black comedy of the highest order: everywhere Regulus turns another Muggle who seems menacing at first but then helps him overcome his own obvious incompetency.

 

They go down in a lift – a stinking one, crowded with Muggles – and onto a platform that also reeks of machinery and filth. Regulus breathes through his mouth and looks at his brother, who is squinting up at an illuminated sign. The numbers flip on the sign and Sirius puts his hand on Regulus’s arm, pulling him back slightly – Regulus’s ears pop as a wave of pressure hits them – he panics, it’s like a spell gone wrong – and then a train whooshes into the station on a gust of hot air and squealing tires. Sirius keeps his hand on Regulus’s arm, but gently now, and guides him onto the train car. It is mostly empty, and Sirius takes a seat and tugs Regulus down into the one beside it.

 

‘The train’s a bit loud,’ Sirius explains.

 

It jerks out of the station. Regulus isn’t unused to trains, but he is unused to this one, which sways drunkenly. A beer can skitters wildly across the floor and trails drops of amber liquid. As quickly as Regulus has become used to the noise and the movement, the train abruptly stops. The doors open, and passengers come and go.

 

‘How many times will it stop?’ Regulus asks, fearful of the answer.

 

‘Uhm,’ Sirius says, ‘let’s see, six I think. No, five.’ The car screeches into motion and Regulus grabs the edge of the seat. ‘Don’t worry,’ Sirius adds. ‘It’s very safe.’

 

‘It’s just, uhm, loud,’ Regulus shouts. ‘And unexpected.’

 

Sirius doesn’t laugh at him, even though he almost certainly deserves it; instead, he looks concerned. Regulus remembers how much he loves his brother like a stab in the side.

 

‘Do you ride it often?’

 

‘I walk home most days,’ Sirius says. He’s looking around the car, which has only a few other passengers, all seated at the other end. ‘Listen, I’ve got to tell you something.’

 

‘Ok,’ Regulus says, but then Sirius is silent as the train screeches around a corner. Regulus is already learning how to lean with it and, stupid as it is to feel this way as an adult, the warmth of Sirius’s arm against his is reassuring. ‘What were you going to tell me?’ he asks, thinking that Sirius thinks he can’t hear him.

 

Sirius frowns. ‘The person I live with –‘ he says, and there’s something under the words. ‘I have to make sure it’s all right with him before you – before you can stay.’

 

‘Oh,’ Regulus says, ‘of course. That makes perfect sense.’ He feels that there’s something more to be said, but he isn’t certain what it is. ‘Is it one of your friends from school?’

 

Sirius is looking down at the floor. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘And listen, Regulus…’

 

Regulus waits. He doesn’t understand that Sirius is struggling to define a relationship that doesn’t currently have acceptable nomenclature. Finally, Sirius says, ‘He’s my boyfriend.’

 

The train is screeching and Regulus is confused. ‘Sorry, what?’ he asks over the noise.

 

‘My boyfriend,’ Sirius repeats, very loudly, as the train abruptly becomes silent. Sirius looks around quickly but Regulus is too busy suddenly realising a lot of things very quickly to notice if anyone heard him.

 

Their father, constantly criticising Sirius for not being ‘strong’ or ‘tough’.

 

Their mother, so furious when she caught Sirius playing with her jewels.

 

The look his parents gave each other across the dining room table the night that Sirius left the house for good.

 

Bellatrix, mocking Sirius in a sing-song voice, telling him he’s not a man.

 

Uncle Alphard, the perpetual bachelor and family black sheep, leaving Sirius a pile of money.

 

Smirking looks from cousins, a comment here or there, his mother demanding to know about Sirius’s friends, even though two of the three of them are Purebloods…

 

Sirius is watching him. ‘Do you still want to come with me?’ he asks, and he sounds like he’s steeling himself against a blow.

 

Regulus realises something else: that after everything that has happened, his brother still loves him too. ‘Yes,’ he says. He wonders if something more is required of him. ‘I came to you because I knew you’d help me,’ he explains. ‘I knew I could count on you.’

 

Sirius seems relieved. ‘I’m going to do my best,’ he says.

 

‘Which one is it?’ Regulus asks, a thought occurring to him. ‘Is it… the one who was a prefect?’

 

Sirius nods. ‘Remus,’ he says, and there’s something in the way he says it, some extra meaning for him.

 

Regulus tries to think what to say about him, and absolutely does not say, _isn’t he a Halfblood?_ ‘He’s nice,’ is what he comes up with. ‘I mean, he was nice at school.’

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius says, suddenly grinning. ‘He’s great.’

 

***

Sirius’s flat is above a shop not far from a tube station. Regulus goggles at the narrow stairs and Sirius, apparently noticing this, says, ‘It’s nice on the inside.’

 

‘It’s great,’ Regulus lies, a little bit horrified for his brother, who has opened the door. Regulus can see already that it is not nice on the inside.

 

‘You’re home early,’ he hears a voice call from a nearby room.

 

‘Yeah…’ Sirius replies, making a nervous face at his brother as they step inside.

 

‘Everything all right…?’ Remus comes around the corner and stops dead.

 

Regulus hasn’t seen him in a few years and he’s startled by how much older he looks. ‘You’re Remus,’ he says, a bit stupidly.

 

Remus is now looking at Sirius with one eyebrow raised.

 

‘Why don’t we take a walk?’ Sirius asks.

 

‘And leave him here?’ Remus, sounding incredulous and just a little angry, looks quickly at Regulus. ‘You know we have some things here that a Death Eater probably shouldn’t be left alone with?’

 

Regulus winces like he’s been slapped. ‘I can wait elsewhere if you need to talk,’ he suggests, but his heart starts beating frantically, because for the first time in weeks he’s felt safe with Sirius and the thought of leaving even this foyer without him inspires crippling fear.

 

‘No,’ Sirius says, ‘you wait here.’ He seems to be communicating something to Remus with his eyes. ‘He’ll be fine.’

 

Remus, looking incredibly unhappy, says curtly, ‘Let’s step outside.’

 

They both go into the hallway, Remus brushing past him without looking at him and slamming the door with unnecessary force.

 

Regulus hesitates. He feels compelled to listen to the conversation even though he knows it is private. He’s unduly fascinated by his brother’s relationship. Sirius is, well, homosexual, and that explains so very much, but what can it possibly be like? Is he like… is he like a woman? His better nature hopes they’ll walk away but almost immediately he hears Remus’s voice, quiet but furious:

 

‘Why the _fuck_ is there a Death Eater in the flat?’

 

And Sirius, hushed: ‘He doesn’t want to be a Death Eater anymore.’

 

‘And you believe that?’

 

'He's my brother.'

 

'Do you remember the people he used to hang around with at school? Where are all of those people today? They didn't join the bloody Church!'

 

'I know, I know, but he wasn't as bad as most of them...'

 

'Great, he was only a little bit like a bunch of murdering racists.'

 

Regulus is startled by how much that hurts, suddenly wanting to close his eyes and cry. He presses his ear more firmly against the door, listening for Sirius’s answer.

 

It is quiet when it comes, and not exactly a defence. 'You don't know what it's like, growing up in my family.'

 

'I know you.'

 

'Yeah, but I didn't spend my time with them once I met you lot.'

 

'You were already not like them by the time you got to school.'

 

'It's... it's hard. It's different. Regulus isn't me.'

 

'Right. He's a Death Eater.'

 

'But he's also,' and Regulus can hear Sirius struggling, 'he's always been very... eager to please. Always wanted to fit in. Scared to stand out and draw curses.' Regulus thinks, _I have been that_ , and that hurts too.

 

'And so he let you do it for him,' Remus snaps. Through the door, his words radiate fury. 'Let you protect him no matter what it meant for you.'

 

'I was going to be in trouble anyway.'

 

'But he didn't stick up for you.'

 

'He helped me escape,' Sirius says, pleading. 'The night I left for good, he didn't stop me. And he took my mother's attention away from what was happening so I could leave.'

 

Regulus is vividly transported back to that night, one of the worst of his life. He remembers sitting in Sirius’s bed after he’d gone, thinking he should cry, but his grief had felt beyond even that action.

 

'That's what you're grateful to him for?' Remus demands, cutting in on Regulus’s memory. 'Don't you see how shit that is?'

 

'It was incredibly kind,' Sirius counters and Regulus wishes he could see his face. 'Really. You don't... I can't explain it. It was a moment of solidarity.'

 

'By someone who let his friends at school try to taunt and bully you? I think I even gave him detention for it a few times.'

 

'He mentioned that you were really nice,' Sirius says.

 

There’s a pause. Regulus has a feeling that this is not the direction Sirius should have taken this. 'What? When?'

 

'Well,' and Sirius is obviously stalling. Regulus starts to feel sick to his stomach with anxiety, 'I had to tell him about, you know, about us.'

 

'What did you say?'

 

Sirius mumbles, 'That you're my boyfriend.'

 

‘Are you fucking…’ There’s something else, something too quiet for Regulus to hear. Then Remus says, 'So he can report that back to his Death Eater friends, wonderful, and they can try to use that against us.'

 

'I had to tell him,' Sirius says, and Regulus can hear the lie in his voice. He could have kept it concealed easily. He’d volunteered the information. Regulus wonders why, as Sirius revises. 'I wanted to tell him, a little bit. So few people know... I wanted my brother to know. I wanted to be able to tell someone in my family…’  

 

There’s more that’s inaudible. Then he hears Remus say, 'I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the situation.'

 

'What do you mean?'

 

'Do you really trust him? Are you being objective? Or are you just thinking with your heart?'

 

‘I’m fucking terrified for him. If he’s decided to quit…’ Regulus feels a chill go down his back; Sirius knows.

 

Remus’s next words are just as chilling: ‘They’ll kill him.’

 

‘Yes. Which is why we have to help-‘

 

Remus raises his voice again. ‘I can’t believe you did this. You do everything without thinking.’

 

The rest is low and mumbling. Regulus eventually steps away from the door. It’s strange to hear Sirius argue with Remus. So many of his memories of his brother from their teenage years are about him arguing – but this time feels very different. Sirius wasn’t shouting over someone, or deliberately being nasty. Regulus sits on a chair in the sitting room – there are five seats counting a couch, and, in a corner, a small pile of children’s toys – all so crammed in that he wants to tell them just to get rid of a chair or three. He has no idea what the toys are about, either. He tries to breathe, fighting through the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. Sirius and Remus know that the Death Eaters will kill him for desertion.

 

The black lake is always in his mind, now, unseen but imagined. What he has to do has never felt more real.

 

***

Sirius and Remus return not too much later with the conspicuous air of two people who have rowed and are now trying to make up for it. Sirius pours Remus a glass of wine with almost comical deference and they make dinner together, sharing a single knife and cutting board between them. Regulus has never watched anyone make food before, and is fascinated, until Remus unceremoniously dumps some potatoes on the table in front of him and holds out a strange instrument. Sirius snatches whatever it is from him and says, ‘He’s never cooked before,’ to which Remus snaps, ‘First time for everything, then,’ but doesn’t make another comment as Sirius peels the potatoes.

 

‘Can’t you use magic?’ Regulus asks, when Remus goes to the toilet. He’s afraid of speaking with him glowering in the room.

 

‘We don’t use it in the flat,’ Sirius explains. ‘It attracts, um, well.’

 

‘Death Eaters.’

 

‘Yes.’

 

Regulus and he look at each other for a long moment, hilarity threatening to break out at the obvious. Regulus wants to laugh with his brother, but can’t quite make it come. Instead, he says, ‘Thank you again.’

 

‘Thank Remus, would you?’ Sirius suggests. ‘This is hard for him.’

 

‘Because he’s a Halfblood?’ Regulus asks.

 

‘Yes,’ Remus snaps, appearing behind him in the doorway.

 

‘That’s all…’ Regulus sighs. Now that he knows the Dark Lord is a Halfblood, he doesn’t know what to think. ‘I’m sorry. Please don’t feel that that is a problem for me.’

 

‘I don’t particularly care if it’s a problem for you,’ Remus says coldly. ‘I care that you want to take away my rights.’

 

Sirius is giving Remus a blazing look, but it isn’t a reprimand. Regulus files it away to think about later and says, as earnestly as he can, ‘Please believe me, I want nothing less than to see the rights of – of anyone –‘ He almost says ‘any wizards’ but catches himself – ‘taken away. And thank you for letting me stay. I can’t say how grateful I am.’ Now Sirius is looking at him, and Regulus can almost feel his thoughts: _what would Mother and Father say if they heard you?_

 

Remus makes a noise of assent and nods, curt, before turning back to the hob. Dinner is simple, but not half bad – nothing like what Kreacher makes, of course, but it is sustenance. Regulus feels slightly revived after it, and somehow less nauseous.

 

After, he steps outside of the kitchen to use the toilet. Walking back, he stops, seeing through the doorway the reflection of his brother with his arms around Remus in the kitchen window. Remus is standing in front of the sink, washing the dishes, and Sirius has put his arms around his shoulders and is leaning into him. In the quiet of the flat, Regulus clearly hears him say, low and fervent, ‘You’re the love of my life, Remus.’ There’s a moment where Remus shuts his eyes – Regulus doesn’t think Sirius can see his face, as his own is pressed against Remus’s hair – and then Remus opens them and sees Regulus watching and says, ‘Yeah, yeah,’ patting Sirius’s hand and then pushing him away.

 

***

Regulus is given the sofa, and sleeps like the dead upon it. He wakes in the morning to whispered debate – ‘I don’t want to leave him here alone,’ Remus saying, and Sirius saying, ‘I’ll be back in time for you to leave for your class’ – and the front door shutting. Then he slips back under into the world of sleep and awakens much later, disorientated. He finds his way into the messy bath and washes his face and hands in the slightly dirty sink. Toothpaste and two toothbrushes dangle precariously at its sides, and there’s little dots of spit on the mirror. Regulus puts some toothpaste onto his finger, rubs it around on his teeth, and examines himself in the mirror. He appears to have aged a decade in a month. Dread weighs on him like a heavy fur cloak.

 

He finds Remus in the kitchen. He’s marking papers with a frown line between his eyes. Remus says, without looking up at him, ‘The kettle’s still warm if you want some tea. Mugs in the cupboard to the left of the sink. Feel free to eat any food you find around.’

 

‘Uhm,’ Regulus replies. He goes to the counter and examines what he guesses is the kettle. Water pours out of it, not tea. He squints at the settings on the side, trying to decide which one of these arcane muggle symbols will equal tea.

 

‘What are you doing?’ Remus’s voice is more curious than cold.

 

‘I was looking for tea,’ Regulus says. ‘This is just giving me water.’

 

Remus blinks at him. ‘You need a tea bag.’

 

‘Oh,’ Regulus says. ‘Are those –‘

 

‘They’re on the counter in front of you,’ Remus says. When Regulus continues to be lost, Remus stands, takes one of the little sachets – not really a bag at all, Regulus thinks – from an open box, pours the plain water out of his mug, puts in the sachet, and toggles a button on the kettle.

 

‘When that flips back,’ he says, ‘then pour it in over the teabag and wait a few minutes. There’s milk in the fridge, I assume you can recognise that?’

 

Regulus glances at him, ready to snap back sarcastically when he remembers Sirius telling him to be kind to Remus. ‘Thank you,’ he says stiffly.

 

Remus says nothing, just returns to his seat at the table. Regulus waits out the entire tedious ritual and sits at the table. The Daily Prophet is on it, so he takes it, and starts reading, marking the catalogue of fresh disasters that have occurred in the roughly eighteen hours since he left his previous life. After a while, his stomach starts rumbling ominously.

 

Remus seems lost in his world of marking, head bent over the table, every so often scribbling furiously with a red quill, sometimes mouthing words or muttering to himself. Regulus finally gets up and re-examines the fridge for things that might be immediately eaten. From its meagre inventory, he extracts a block of cheese and some veg. He can’t find a suitably sharp knife for the cheese – just table knives – and winds up mauling one corner of the block.

 

When he sits, with his plate of mangled cheese and carrots, Remus says, without looking up from the scroll he has rolled out before him, ‘Would you like me to walk you through frying an egg?’

 

‘Yes please,’ Regulus says, immensely relieved.

 

Ten minutes later, he has toast and two eggs – both destroyed, their yolks free from their fragile carapaces and cooked into complete rubber – and is eating them with deep enthusiasm.

 

Remus finishes a scroll, stacks it onto a much larger pile on the floor, and says, ‘Have you truly never cooked before?’

 

‘Why would I cook?’ Regulus asks. ‘Our house elf cooks for us.’ Remus’s face is unreadable, though there’s obviously some thought passing across it. Regulus continues, ‘Surely Sirius told you this. He never cooked anything either.’

 

Remus cocks his head in a gesture that makes Regulus think of a confused dog. Then he says, quite unexpectedly, ‘Sirius used to come over to my parents’ house on school holidays sometimes. My mother taught us both to cook.’

 

Regulus takes a moment to absorb that. His brother learned to cook on school holidays at the home of a halfblood? He’s suddenly desperately curious to know if Remus’s mother or father is the Muggle. Eleven year old Regulus would have been utterly terrified at even entering the house of a Muggle, let alone interacting with one. ‘I didn’t know,’ he says, finally, concluding that there’s no polite way to find out.

 

Remus’s face remains unreadable. ‘I guess Sirius didn’t say what he did.’

 

‘Sirius didn’t even say where he’d gone,’ Regulus says, surprising himself with how bitter he sounds. He adds quickly, ‘Anyway, cooking is a waste of time. House elves can do it.’

 

‘Do you just have one?’

 

‘We used to have two, but one of them died when I was six.’

 

‘What is your house elf like?’

 

Regulus frowns. Remus seems genuinely curious. He’s never been asked a question like this before. ‘He’s excellent,’ he says. ‘The best we could ask for.’

 

‘What’s his name?’

 

‘Kreacher.’

 

Remus looks nonplussed. ‘Did you give him that name?’

 

Regulus has no idea, and the thought has never occurred to him. ‘Um,’ he says. ‘He’s been around since before I was born. I’m not sure.’

 

‘Is he old?’

 

‘Middle-aged, I think?’ Regulus has zero idea. Kreacher seems older than some house elves but does not act particularly aged. Remus is regarding him with that same nonplussed look, which makes Regulus deeply uncomfortable. It makes him feel accountable for his actions. ‘He’s a good companion,’ he stresses, and then he even sort of lies: ‘Sometimes we talk about things.’

 

Remus now looks openly sceptical. 'But Regulus, you have to admit, Kreacher is a slave.'

 

'He's a house elf,' Regulus snaps, exasperated.

 

'He's a sentient being,' Remus says. 'Do you honestly think he wants a life of servitude?'

 

'He's a member of my family,' Regulus tries.

 

'Who's treated worse than other members of the family and also has to serve them under pain of injury or even death?' Remus asks, frowning, like he's a professor who is grilling a particularly recalcitrant student.

 

It infuriates Regulus. 'You don't know what it's like.'

 

'No, I don't,' Remus agrees. 'And I understand that you grew up with him. My family would never have had a house elf.'

 

'Why not? Too self-righteous?' Regulus demands.

 

Remus laughs wryly. 'Maybe. But also too Muggle and too poor.'

 

Regulus feels like he's losing an argument he didn't want to have. 'You don't understand my relationship with Kreacher, and you don't have any right to talk about it.'

 

'While the first is certainly true,' Remus says, and there's steel under his kind voice now, 'I have every right to speak out against the injustice of house elf slavery.'

 

'Kreacher is my best friend,' Regulus says, and it's an admission he's never said before, and feels ripped out of his heart. What a fucking saddo he is! 'He's - you have no idea. None. My family - it's hard. Sirius was my best friend. Then he left.' Suddenly Regulus is on the verge of tears. 'He walked out of my life, and he left me behind.'

 

'Regulus,' Remus says, clearly startled, and Regulus can see that he's made him regret the conversation, so he pushes on, trying to punish him.

 

'I idolised my brother and he left me and he never cared. He never looked back.'

 

'That's not true,' Remus says quietly.

 

This is certainly not what Regulus expected. 'What?'

 

'Look,' Remus says, and he pauses, and spreads his hands on the table, and Regulus hates that he feels compelled to listen. 'You're right. I have no idea what your family is like. Aside from Sirius, you're the first member of it I've even spoken with. And from his accounts, I cannot imagine what growing up with them was like. But to say that Sirius didn't care about you - and doesn't - is completely wrong.'

 

'How would you know?' Regulus demands.

 

'Because I know your brother better than anyone else does, I think,' Remus says simply. ‘And I watched him for six years as he struggled every single day with how much he cared - and cares - about your family, and you specifically. He went back and forth between trying to be the person they - and I think mostly your mother - wanted him to be and the person he actually is.' Remus shakes his head, a pensive look on his face. 'But Sirius isn't a person who can hide himself like that. He's too much - he's -'

 

'He wears his heart on his sleeve,' Regulus says very quietly. 'He always has.'

 

'Yes,' Remus agrees. 'That's a perfect way to describe it.' He looks up at Regulus. 'Don't you understand that he couldn't pretend?’

 

Regulus sighs deeply, suddenly so exhausted he wishes he could lay down on the floor and sleep for a thousand years. ‘Pretending is important, though,’ he says, after thinking about it. ‘It’s crucial to being a good member of the House of Black.’

 

Remus frowns. ‘Why?’

 

‘We have to be leaders,’ Regulus explains, feeling his way towards the answer. ‘We can’t – we can’t admit when we don’t know something, or when we’re frightened.’

 

‘Isn’t allying with Voldemort a way of admitting you’re frightened?’

 

Regulus involuntarily flinches at the name. ‘What?’

 

‘I mean,’ Remus says, ‘frightened of change. Of the power of Muggleborns in wizarding society. That might undermine the power of the old houses, like yours.’

 

‘That’s,’ Regulus says, and he wants to say ‘preposterous’ but… ‘No,’ he says coldly. ‘It’s not fear.’

 

‘Then what is it?’

 

‘Leadership,’ Regulus snaps. ‘Towards a more perfect world.’

 

Remus snorts. ‘You know that there’s study after study about the inclusion of Muggleborn wizards and witches showing that diversity of thought leads to more innovation, better outcomes, and etcetera, right?’

 

Regulus has never heard a person use ‘etcetera’ aloud. ‘What are you a professor of?’ he asks, bemused. ‘And no, I don’t know about these studies. I don’t need studies to know that under the guidance and leadership of the old houses, the wizarding world has done very well for itself against all threats from outside – which are from Muggles, by the way –‘

 

‘You don’t need studies?’ Remus repeats. ‘You don’t need knowledge?’

 

Regulus snaps, ‘We have our own sources of knowledge. We don’t need – we know what’s best.’

 

‘I’m not a professor,’ Remus says, and Regulus is relieved to be done arguing. ‘I’m a PhD candidate.’

 

‘What are the scrolls you’re marking?’

 

‘I help my advisor teach a module about the historic discrimination against Dark Creatures.’

 

Regulus frowns. ‘Why would anyone want to learn about that?’

 

Remus actually laughs at him. ‘I know you’ve got your “own sources of knowledge” but you might have heard something about those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it?’

 

‘But why should we not discriminate against Dark Creatures?’ Regulus demands, frustrated. ‘They pose a threat to society.’

 

‘Do they?’ Remus asks lightly. ‘Is that your feeling about it? Or do you have any factual information, any data to back that up?’

 

Regulus feels like he’s losing his mind. ‘You’re saying Dark Creatures aren’t dangerous.’

 

‘I would argue – and I’m not alone, this is quite accepted among many people – that those classified as so-called Dark Creatures are actually suffering from disease.’

 

‘Incurable disease,’ Regulus says. ‘Disease that murders the innocent.’

 

‘Treatable disease,’ Remus stresses. ‘Many diseases are contagious. It’s like leprosy.’

 

‘How can you treat a, a,’ Regulus struggles for an appropriately horrid example, ‘well, let’s say, a werewolf who is roaming the countryside?’

 

Remus is starting to say something when an owl taps at the window. He stands, opens it – a gust of icy wind and rain blows into the room – and collects a letter before shutting it again. The owl flies off at an angle, disappearing into cloud quickly.

 

‘It’s for you,’ Remus says, sounding surprised. ‘Though it is addressed rather strangely.’

 

Regulus reaches for it and reads, in his father’s neat hand: ‘Regulus Black, Esq. c/o Hong Kong British Dependent Territory.’ The letter is full of neatly annotated notes from a business meeting and a request for his thoughts.

 

‘May I borrow a quill?’ he asks Remus, who passes him one and a sheet of parchment and leaves the room. Later, after he has written his father a detailed response – trying to embed his regret at not being there, and for all the reasons why he’s not there, into each mundane word – he finds Remus in the lounge, now reading. He surreptitiously takes out his own books – enchanted to have different covers – and sits down to do his research. If Remus finds any of this strange, he doesn’t comment, but he does bring Regulus a cup of tea and some biscuits when he gets up to get his own.

 

***

 

Regulus longs to talk to his brother about something meaningful, but finds that he cannot. Sirius has ideological reasons for hating Voldemort that are far more developed than Regulus’s, for one thing. Sirius tries to talk to him about the Death Eaters and Regulus gets stuck on the fact that many of them are cousins.

 

‘Family loyalty is very important to me,’ he says to Sirius, who shuts down entirely at that.

 

And so for four days, they say very little beyond pleasantries. Sirius and Remus are clearly babysitting him, and it is also clearly taking its toll, because they both seem incredibly busy. Late on the third day, Sirius leaves him alone for several hours with a plea to not tell Remus because of some emergency. Regulus wonders about their mysterious activities but tells himself that he doesn’t deserve to ask. He assumes it all relates to the paramilitary activity their father was warned about…

 

On the night of the fourth day, Regulus emerges from the bath rubbing his hands through his hair and finds a touching scene, the first since his first night there as he hasn’t even seen Sirius and Remus together except briefly during the handoffs of Death Eater babysitting since. His brother is seated on the sofa, doing the crossword in the Daily Prophet, his eyebrows pressed together in concentration. Lying with his head on Sirius's thigh and his feet curled up is Remus, apparently asleep. Sirius has the crossword floating in midair, pen in one hand, the other resting gently in Remus's curling hair.

 

Sirius sees him and raises an eyebrow. 'All right?' he asks.

 

'How's the crossword?' Regulus whispers, not wanting to wake Remus.

 

'He'll sleep through anything,' Sirius says loudly.

 

'Fuck you,' Remus mumbles, rolling onto his side and burying his head more thoroughly against Sirius.

 

'Want to help me with this?' Sirius asks, petting Remus’s hair with an air that is both touching and, Regulus thinks, deliberately casual.

 

‘Absolutely,’ Regulus says, desperate for a diversion from incredibly depressing and frankly horrifying magical research. He sits beside Sirius, and his brother leans into him a bit, and it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 

After a while, Remus stands and says, ‘I’m going to make dinner.’

 

‘Need help?’ Sirius asks.

 

‘No, you two finish that,’ Remus says.

 

‘Let’s go sit at the table,’ Sirius suggests to Regulus. ‘It’ll be easier to see.’

 

They fill it out aside from a single block of clues, but can get no further; it seems something is wrong in what they’ve already filled in and it’s throwing off the other clues.

 

‘“It lures travellers into bogs”,’ Regulus reads aloud again, ‘we’ve got that one.’

 

‘Hinkypunk,’ Remus says from his position at the hob.

 

‘Hinkypink,’ Sirius and Regulus say together.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Hinkypink,’ Sirius repeats.

 

Remus turns and stares at them. 'It's hinkypunk.’

 

Sirius and Regulus exchange a confused look. ‘But the book…’ Regulus says.

 

‘Oh no,’ Sirius says, in mock horror, ‘was it just a cute name? Have we been saying it wrong for years?’

 

‘What book?’ Remus asks, clearly amused.

 

Sirius grins at his brother. ‘You say it.’

 

‘No, you,’ Regulus says, starting to laugh. ‘It sounds too stupid.’

 

‘What book?’

 

Sirius starts laughing too. ‘“Rinkydink Hinkypink”. It’s a book we read when we were children.’

 

‘Over and over and over again,’ Regulus adds. ‘We loved it.’

 

‘Kreacher was so sick of reading it to us,’ Sirius says, and for a second he sounds almost fond. Regulus glances at Remus and sees him looking at Sirius, and he knows that he’s heard it too.

 

‘Well, whatever literary liberties the author took,’ Remus says, turning back to the hob, ‘the creature who lures travellers into bogs is most certainly a hinky _punk_.’

 

Sirius changes the letter and the puzzle is easily solvable; a minute later, the letters flip and a tiny elf on a tricycle rides across the top of it blowing a whistle. Regulus feels suddenly that this could be it: the moment when he and Sirius will reconnect, will discuss something real. He glances again at Remus and they make eye contact, just a flicker, before Remus says, ‘I think this is ready…’

 

Regulus wonders if he could ever come to appreciate a simple meal (stir fry tonight, which seems to be one of two meals – the other being shepherd’s pie – that the two of them know how to prepare) and a small but warm flat. He longs for home – cavernous rooms that he can walk through alone, quiet luxuries, the finest of everything at the time that it was made and installed, even if some of it has gotten a little bit shabby over the years. He misses his parents, difficult as they can be, and Kreacher. He longs to know if Sirius ever misses those things too.

 

Or if Sirius ever misses him.

 

‘What have you been reading all day?’ Sirius asks now.

 

‘Oh,’ Regulus says, ‘just trying to prepare to travel.’

 

‘Travel?’

 

‘I’ll have to leave the country,’ Regulus lies, or rather doesn’t lie, but skirts the truth with obfuscating facts. ‘I told Mother and Father I’d gone already.’

 

‘Where are you thinking?’ Sirius asks, voice light.

 

‘Shanghai, maybe Hong Kong.’

 

‘That’s good and far away,’ Remus says, encouragingly. Regulus wonders if the encouragement includes a subtle, _Hurry up and get out of my flat_.

 

‘I think so,’ Regulus says. ‘And Mother and Father agree.’

 

Sirius raises his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’

 

‘They both think the Death Eaters are – well, a bit overzealous. Not really the right place for me.’ Remus and Sirius give each other a look and Regulus hastens to explain, ‘You know, it was all fine and well as a political movement, but once it became violent…’

 

‘It’s been violent for years,’ Sirius says.

 

‘It’s always been violent against some types of people,’ Remus adds.

 

Regulus gives up on having a reasonable discussion. ‘Look, I don’t know what they teach you in Gryffindor, but the Dark Lord is just a more – a more – deep version of the philosophy of Slytherin House.’

 

‘You know,’ Sirius says, ‘when I was first Sorted, I was miserable that I wasn’t in Slytherin. I pretended to everyone that I wasn’t, but…’

 

‘I knew,’ Remus says.

 

‘Yeah,’ Sirius agrees. ‘But honestly…’

 

Regulus wants to say, _it doesn’t make you better than us_.

 

‘Honestly I think it’s more impressive that you’ve changed your mind on your own,’ Sirius finishes.

 

‘What?’ Regulus asks, startled.

 

‘I mean,’ Sirius shrugs, ‘I have friends who agree with what I believe. You don’t.’

 

‘I – I mean…’ Regulus struggles with what to say. He longs to open up about the horcrux, about Kreacher, about his mission, but he also knows that would put them in very real danger. Instead, he says lamely, ‘I just couldn’t do it. I just, I’m just not meant to be a Death Eater.’

 

‘If only they’d all realise that,’ Remus says, and that’s the end of the discussion.

 

***

The next day, Regulus makes the decision that he has to leave this unexpected safe haven. He feels complacent and therefore complicit. He is no closer to understanding how to destroy the horcrux, but violence against Muggles is escalating and he’s afraid that the Dark Lord will realise that he is not in Hong Kong after all and retaliate against his parents. He decides to give the locket to Kreacher and have him take it and hide it in the family home; someone else can find it and destroy it, but it will be out of the Dark Lord’s grasp.

 

He does not sleep that night, but stays up after the other two have gone to bed. He lies awake, thinking over and over again of letters he might write:

 

To Kreacher, giving him clothes.

 

To Remus, thanking him for the hospitality and the conversation. Asking him to keep taking care of Sirius.

 

To his parents, telling them that none of this was their fault.

 

To Sirius. Telling him that he loves him.

 

In the end, he writes none of them.

 

As he readies himself to leave, he looks briefly through the doorway of Sirius and Remus’s bedroom. Sirius is curled around Remus, their hands lying atop each other in front of Remus’s chest, the picture of something that Regulus knows he’ll never have. He hopes it is enough for Sirius.

 

***

The night Sirius leaves the House of Black forever, there is a terrible row.

 

They’d been building towards it for years: brutal shouting matches, occasional violence, things said that could never be unsaid. Regulus has years of memories of hiding in corners and once a cupboard while they screamed at each other, of helping his brother clean up his bruised face after his mother slapped him with her fingers full of rings, of comforting him after his father hit him hard enough to send him into a wall. Sirius acquires a dark, sulky, furious look early in adolescence and wears it for years, so that Regulus only sees him happy from a distance, at school. There are a few terrible terms where he wears it then too.

 

But this row – this one is different. Before, Regulus always told himself that they are family and they will always be loyal to one another, no matter what happens between them. This one feels, emphatically, like there is no going back.

 

Family Christmas Eve dinner. The cousins have two bottles of firewhisky that they are passing around in the upstairs library from fairly early in the day onward. Regulus hates the burn of it but can’t resist the posturing of drinking it. Soon his head is swimming; his brother steers him out of the party and stands guard outside the toilet so no one hears him vomiting. Regulus is fifteen, Sirius sixteen. When Regulus emerges, Sirius puts an arm around him for a second and says, ‘You don’t have to do what they tell you to do. Ever.’ Regulus, still shaky, is taken aback, and doesn’t respond. Sirius squeezes his shoulders and adds, each word fully enunciated, ‘Fuck. Them.’

 

Downstairs, in the formal dining room, Regulus and Sirius are seated beside each other; Regulus always requests that Kreacher ensures this. For most of his life, it was to be close to his big brother. Recently it has become to try to contain him.

 

Earlier in the day, there had been a particularly brutal Muggle murder. Someone at the party has a sibling in Magical Law Enforcement who has apparently spent the day modifying memories with some difficulty because what they’ve seen is so horrific. No one has claimed responsibility, and the party is split: was it the people backing the Dark Lord, and his group of ‘Death Eating’ followers underground? Or just typical Muggle-on-Muggle violence?

 

‘They’re absurdly violent,’ Narcissa says, rolling her eyes. ‘Someone ought to step in for their own good.’

 

 _Someone_ , of course, is wizards. Regulus can sense his brother’s anger, which like a living animal stalks beside him, pacing the narrow confines of his seat at the table. Regulus wonders if anyone else can sense it too, or if they’re so caught up in their own anger and arguments that they haven’t noticed how dangerous Sirius’s is. He feels ill and barely touches the soup course. Kreacher, collecting it, gives him a meaningful look: _Are you all right?_ Regulus just raises his eyebrows back.

 

And then, finally, Sirius has enough. Regulus doesn’t even hear the comment that does it; he’s turned to Rodolphus and is asking him to pass the salt. All he hears is Sirius, voice so low that everyone at the table stops moving to hear it: ‘You don’t know a thing about Muggles.’

 

‘And of course you do,’ Bellatrix says, voice cold and ringing. ‘I’m sure in Gryffindor you rub shoulders with plenty of Mudbloods.’

 

‘Don’t call them that,’ Sirius says.

 

Bellatrix laughs. ‘I’m eight years your elder, darling cousin. I rather think I know more than you do.’

 

Regulus knows that one of Sirius’s best friends is a Halfblood: that Gryffindor prefect, Remus Lupin. And the other Gryffindor prefect is a full Mudblood, Lily Evans. And another of Sirius’s best friends is a Pureblood constantly following her around, wanting to – to what? To miscegenate? It’s disgustingly unnatural, but Sirius is not one of them, as far as Regulus knows. He’s never seen his brother with a girlfriend at all, and has idly assumed, without thinking about it too hard, that it’s because Gryffindor has so few suitable partners for the scion of the House of Black.

 

‘I’ve heard,’ says Narcissa, who is three years Bellatrix’s junior, and who overlapped briefly with Sirius and Regulus at school, ‘that Gryffindor will take more than just Mudbloods.’ Everyone looks at her and she preens a bit in the spotlight.

 

‘Narcissa,’ Sirius starts, and there is something in his voice that Regulus hopes only he can hear – some truth or admission.

 

‘I heard that there’s a Dark Creature there.’

 

Everyone starts murmuring. ‘That’s absolutely absurd,’ Sirius says, flatly. ‘Whoever told you that is an idiot.’

 

‘Why is it absurd?’ Narcissa demands.

 

‘Dark Creatures are dangerous,’ Sirius says, and Regulus can tell there’s something here, but he doubts anyone else can – it’s the most convincing lie he’s ever heard his brother tell. ‘They wouldn’t let them into a school near children.’

 

‘Absolutely right,’ their father says, perhaps the first time that he has ever agreed with Sirius.

 

Narcissa looks sulky, but, as always, Bellatrix is the one who pushes it too far. ‘And yet you’re in a House with Mudbloods and Halfbloods, who are just as dangerous, just as, as –‘ She seems to struggle for an appropriate descriptor. ‘As beast-like.’  

 

Sirius rolls his eyes and Regulus tenses. ‘You’re so _fucking_ ignorant.’

 

The room goes silent. There are close to thirty people at the long table and every single one of them is staring at either Sirius, tall enough to be a man, handsome, leaning forward in his seat with a look of crouched rage, or Bellatrix, darkly beautiful with her full lips and languorous eyes, who leans back in her seat and bursts into laughter.

 

‘I’m ignorant?’ she asks, as dangerous as a crouched snake half-hidden by tall grass. Regulus wants to hide under the table. ‘I’m not the one cavorting with these creatures.’

 

‘You don’t know the first real thing,’ Sirius snaps. ‘You rely on rumour and propaganda to create a picture in your mind of some enemy – and you want an enemy not because you care about the fight but because you want someone to be cruel to.’

 

It’s probably true, Regulus thinks, and he assumes at least some of the people at the table are thinking the same.

 

‘You are the ignorant one,’ Bellatrix says, all laughter gone from her face, ‘if you think that the issue of Muggles aren’t thieves of magic, thieves of our knowledge.’

 

Sirius snorts. ‘Still waiting on any proof whatsoever of that, then,’ he says.

 

‘They’d experiment on us,’ Bellatrix hisses. ‘They’d have us all mate with werewolves.’

 

Sirius laughs, a single, barking laugh, and says, ‘Do you honestly believe the stupid shit you say?’

 

‘Sirius,’ their mother gasps. ‘Be respectful of your family.’

 

‘Why should anyone respect such bigoted stupidity?’ Sirius asks. ‘This is clearly nonsense. Wizards have coexisted with Muggles-‘

 

‘And our blood has been diluted,’ Bellatrix snarls. ‘There are books – articles – it’s very clear. The old families are the last bastion against mediocrity, against magic so degraded – Mudbloods cheat their way into school, they steal our men and women –‘

 

‘This is unhinged,’ Sirius says. ‘I recommend you visit a Halfblood family and see who exactly is the degraded one compared to this, this-‘ Regulus grabs his brother’s leg under the table and squeezes it hard. Sirius grabs his hand and either clutches it or tries to pry it off his leg. Sirius’s hand is sweaty and shaking but Regulus holds on for dear life. ‘Compared to this,’ Sirius finishes with deep venom.

 

‘Sirius,’ his father says quietly, and Regulus is instantly so frightened that he thinks for a second he’ll vomit again. ‘Sirius, have you been to the home of a Mudblood?’

 

Sirius looks completely taken aback. Everyone at the party is staring at him. Then Narcissa, the only other person at the table who has ever seen him at school, says, ‘He’s friends with a Halfblood. The most unhealthy looking, miserable boy.’

 

Regulus sees his parents exchange a look; he cannot read it. He knows they have spies at Hogwarts looking out for their sons and he wonders if this is part of it.

 

‘You’re friends with a Halfblood?’ Sirius’s mother asks, her voice extremely neutral.

 

Regulus looks at his brother, willing him to be cautious. He thinks, _Just lie_ , over and over, trying to send the thought through the pressed-together skin of their hands.

 

‘Yes,’ Sirius says. He lets go of Regulus’s hand and succeeds in shoving it away. ‘And I’ve been to his house. I’ve met his family. All of them. They’re fantastic. Infinitely better than this.’

 

‘Go to your room,’ Orion says, voice deadly. 

 

‘What if I don’t?’ Sirius asks, and Regulus can tell that he’s out of control. ‘What if I go-‘

 

‘Sirius.’ His father starts to rise from his seat. Sirius is blinking hard. Everyone is watching and Regulus can feel that sometimes their eyes dart to him. He remembers years ago, after a row between Sirius and Orion, Narcissa saying in a stage whisper in front of him: ‘I bet he wishes they’d just disinherit Sirius. Then Regulus inherits everything.’

 

He’s thought it over and he emphatically does not wish that. He wants Sirius to run the family with Regulus as his close partner, not to leap over him and leave him behind. Regulus is terrified of the responsibility and wouldn’t want to be without Sirius’s presence, as terrible as it can be, vacillating always between extremes.

 

‘Sirius, _now_ ,’ Orion says, and they leave together and do not return. After several minutes, Walburga excuses herself and disappears as well, leaving Regulus alone with the rest of the family, who immediately begin gossiping: Did Sirius finally do it? Did he go too far? Will they finally disinherit him, the miserable prick who hasn’t represented the family well, who will probably marry a Muggle or a Mudblood just to ruin them? Regulus realises that no one cares that he is there; no one thinks him a threat or even worth acknowledging. He slinks away from the table and goes upstairs.

 

He’s terrified of what he’ll find, his heart pounding with dread, but he does not see anyone until he pushes open the door to Sirius’s bedroom. Sirius is frantically packing, his nose bleeding freely, his eye already swelling.

 

‘Sirius,’ Regulus says, heartbroken. ‘Please.’

 

‘I’m leaving this fucking place,’ Sirius says, his voice thick, with blood or tears Regulus can’t tell. ‘I hate it. I hate everyone in it.’ He stops and looks up at his brother. ‘Not you,’ he amends. ‘But I can’t stay here.’

 

‘Where are mother and father?’

 

‘Mother dragged him off me,’ Sirius says bitterly. ‘I assume they’re rowing elsewhere about what to do with me.’

 

‘Please don’t go.’

 

‘Come with me.’

 

Regulus freezes. ‘To where?’

 

‘A friend’s house.’

 

‘The Halfblood?’ Regulus gasps. ‘Sirius-‘

 

Sirius looks at his brother, blinking rapidly, then wipes his nose and rubs his hand on his duvet. ‘I thought you might be better than them,’ he says, and the weight of his disappointment presses Regulus’s soul to the ground, through the floor, through all the floors of the house and beneath the wine cellar, to the ancient crypt where it nestles with the spirits and sometimes bones of all the other disappointing Blacks.

 

Sirius takes his bag and slings it over his shoulder, then walks purposefully to his window.

 

‘It’s a long drop,’ Regulus says. It is in fact four stories. ‘You can’t use magic, you’re underage.’

 

‘I know very well what I can do, thanks,’ Sirius says, wrenching it open. Icy air flows into the room.

 

‘Wait,’ Regulus says, desperate, visions of Sirius’s broken body on the ground already in his head. ‘Wait, let me.’

 

‘Let you what?’

 

‘I’ll – I’ll distract them.’

 

Sirius frowns at him. ‘So?’

 

‘And you can leave by the door.’

 

Sirius gives him a long look. ‘I wish you’d come with me.’

 

Regulus has never once even considered wishing that. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, and then he runs out of the room to find Kreacher and tell him his plan to create a diversion.

 

The party disburses before anyone knows Sirius has gone; everyone assumes he is in his room. Regulus waits, and waits, for his parents to find out; he is there to comfort them when they do. Their mother, hysterical, blasts Sirius’s name off the family tree, but she does not fully disown him. Regulus knows, without anyone saying a word, that she leaves him as the heir should he ever return. Sirius, always her favourite child, no matter what he does. Regulus is strangely fine with it; he knows Orion has always vastly preferred him, and he prefers Orion – an even keel, not the unpredictable wildness of his mother.

 

Regulus spends that night – what little of it there is left – curled up in Sirius’s bed, surrounded by his Muggle posters, his strange things, the life Sirius has created outside of the family that Regulus knows nothing about and, he thinks then with a despair so pure he can’t fully look at it for fear he will never unsee its face, he never will.

 

***

In the early hours of the morning, Regulus leaves Sirius’s flat and goes home. He takes the locket from his mother’s jewellery box while she sleeps in the next room and rouses Kreacher from his cupboard.

 

‘Take me,’ he says into the still silence of the kitchen, and he imagines the ancestors listening close. ‘Take me to the cave.’

 

Kreacher trembles, tries against all his house elf nature to dissuade him.

 

Eventually, he acquiesces.

 

***

After a week’s fevered imagination, the black lake is worse than anything he could have conjured in his head. He stands on the shore, waiting for the boat, Kreacher at his side. It is cold enough that the stench of death is not overwhelming but he feels certain that it lurks just underneath his senses. They cross the lake unscathed, the boat moving through the water without being affected by it, the movement of the water unnatural.

 

This is Styx, Voldemort’s spell on the boat Charon, the price of passage the locket heavy against his chest.

 

He tells Kreacher his intentions. Kreacher begins to cry – ‘Master Regulus, let me drink the water in the basin for you’ – but Regulus shakes his head.

 

‘Never tell Mother or Father,’ he says. ‘Never, Kreacher, do you understand?’

 

Kreacher, the lines of his face gleaming with tears in the strange green light of the cavern, nods.

 

Regulus conjures a goblet, gleaming silver and studded with emeralds, the House of Black crest upon its side. This is his inheritance, and his fulfilment of the promise he made to his ancestors. He takes a deep breath, and dips the goblet into the basin. The liquid feels like water until it touches his lips.


End file.
